Stranger
by Minato of the Yellow-Flash
Summary: Harry Potter was 'defeated' by Voldemort and awakens in another dimension - one ruled by the Dark Lord himself. With no way to return, Harry tries to find his place in a world far different from his own. In a world where familiar faces don new roles, will Harry succeed in fitting in, or will he always remain a stranger?
1. Prologue

**This is most likely going to be a gen fic, meaning there is either no or very little romance. And it is not going to be a Dark!Harry story either. You have been warned.**

_Starts from where Harry and Voldemort duel in the Deathly Hallows.  
_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

* * *

"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" whispered Harry. "Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does... I am the true master of the Elder Wand."

A red-glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort's was suddenly a flaming blur. Harry heard the high voice shriek as he too yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco's wand:

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Suddenly, the green beam of energy that was the Avada Kedavra spell amplified and began pushing the red light from Harry's wand back at him. This can't be, Harry thought, the Elder Wand is mine, it shouldn't kill me. His train of thought was forced to come to a halt when Harry heard the screams of his friends as the green light came closer. The boy tried to break the connection but nothing happened.

So this is it, Harry thought. This is how it ends.

He could see the look of triumph on Voldemort's face. He turned his head and his eyes met his best friend, Ron's. A single tear rolled down his cheek as the spell collided with him, sending him into oblivion.

But then, something unexpected happened: the boy's body did not fall to the ground, it began to disappear, growing fainter and fainter by the second. All that was left was Malfoy's wand, which fell down. The crowd was silent as Voldemort began to chuckle. The chuckling grew louder and higher, becoming a maniacal cackle. And then, the Dark Lord's laughter came to an abrupt halt. He gasped in pain and dropped the Elder Wand, now glowing red, to the ground. Then it began to disappear, just like Harry Potter had.

Voldemort's eyes glowed with fury. The Deathstick. The Wand of Destiny. The Elder Wand. Gone. It should have been his! He had defeated the Boy-Who-Lived, after all. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Had the boy planned this? No, he was too much of a fool to have thought this out. And surely, that old fool Dumbledore did not have anything to do with this. Why, then, had it vanished? No matter. He had won. The wizarding world was his. He looked around and saw his enemies on their knees, horrified at the death of the Chosen One.

"Dolohov, your wand," Voldemort called out to his servant, who came crawling on his knees and handed him his wand.

"Morsmordre!"

The Dark Mark, all its vile glory, appeared in the sky, eliciting gasps from the gathered people and applause from the Death Eaters.

Hogwarts had fallen. Harry Potter was dead. Voldemort had won.


	2. Not In Kansas Anymore

_I have not decided on any pairings. I'm not sure whether there will even be a pairing. But one thing is for sure, this is not a slash story!  
_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

* * *

Harry Potter opened his eyes, finding himself in a dark room, the only source of light being a candle on a table near him. He was lying on something soft. It was a bed, a hospital bed to be exact. His memory was hazy and he could not recall clearly what had happened. There had been a duel with that insane Dark Lord, but what happened next?

He felt for his glasses on the table beside the bed. Putting them on, he looked around and gasped when he realised where he was. The Hospital Wing. Why was he here? Forget that, why was the Hospital Wing even standing? It had been destroyed in the battle, being among the first places in the castle to be attacked so that the "light side" couldn't tend to the wounded. He tried to find his wand but his search was futile. It was then that he remembered what had happened.

Voldemort had used the Killing Curse through the Elder Wand. Draco Malfoy's wand had fallen out of his hand, and his own wand was broken, probably lying in the Room of Requirement. _So this is death, huh? Not how I imagined it. Oh, god. I've failed them. Voldemort. Shit! He's won. Dumbledore! He must be here, too! We're both dead, aren't we?_

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry called out. "Professor, are you here? I've failed!"

There was no reply. _Figures,_ Harry thought, _He's probably __gone somewhere else as a reward for his "greater good"._ When there was no disturbance for what Harry thought were five minutes in the real world, the boy (or man, as he was of age now) decided to get out of bed. With great effort, he hoisted his cramped legs and pushed himself up and stretched himself. His joints creaked as if he had not moved for a long time. Once he was out of bed did the wizard realise that he was no longer in the same clothes, but in a hospital gown. It wasn't entirely unexpected, seeing as he was in the Hospital Wing but it was a surprise nonetheless. Surely the afterlife had better clothing than this.

Harry caught sight of his reflection in a mirror hanging over the bedside table. He looked just like he did the last time he had checked, apart from the fact that his face was no longer bloodied and there were no gashes or cuts, aside from the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. His jet-black hair was as messy as always. But his face did look a little pale, which Harry attributed to being dead.

The boy slowly made his way to the exit, desperately wanting to see what was outside. There was nothing new. He was still in the dimly lit passages of Hogwarts castle. There was no sign of any fighting or destruction. In his desperation to get answers, Harry called out, "Someone? Anyone?!"

When there was no answer, he fell to his knees, supporting his torso with his arms. This wasn't supposed to happen! He had to defeat Voldemort. Everything had been messed up. Ron, Hermione, Neville, everyone... He had left them at that bastard's mercy.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Someone was approaching. Quickly, Harry gathered himself and stood up, eagerly awaiting the arrival of whoever it was. His jaw dropped when he saw who the person was.

"Madam Pomfrey?" He gasped. "Y-you're dead, too?"

The witch's face was a mixture of disbelief and relief. Harry didn't think it was possible to have both those emotions on your face at once, but somehow, the mediwitch managed it just fine.

"Dead? Are you out of your mind, sir?" she asked. "At least you're up. Thank goodness. We were starting to think you were in a permanent coma."

"We? Coma? What? Isn't this the other side?" Harry asked, puzzled.

The witch had drawn her wand, apparently thinking that Harry was some sort of lunatic. She signaled him inside, her wand pointed at his back.

"Come on, Madam," he said, "This isn't funny anymore. What's going on?"

Finally, the woman spoke up, "How do you know my name? I've never seen you at Hogwarts."

Harry was horrified. "What do you mean you've never seen me? I doubt there was someone who ended up in the hospital more than me!"

"Oh, dear. I need to inform the Headmaster."

"Isn't Snape dead?" Harry inquired.

"Snape? Why would he be dead?"

"And he's the Headmaster?"

"Boy, are you out of your mind?" she gasped. "Why would it be anyone other than Dumbledore?"

Harry almost fainted. Madam Pomfrey also saw this and thrust him into a chair and handed him a glass of water, which Harry gulped down and then proceeded to grip his head.

"This doesn't make sense! Dumbledore is dead. I'm dead, for Merlin's sake!" he moaned.

The mediwitch was as confused as the boy. What was wrong with him? Did he think he was dead? She didn't even know who he was.

"What's your name, boy?" she questioned.

Harry's head shot up. How could someone not know his name. Something was definitely wrong. He needed to get out of here. Leaving the nurse's question unanswered, the wizard jumped up and darted out of the room, the nurse chasing him as fast as her aging body allowed her to. Harry decided that the best course of action was to head for the Headmaster's office, he needed to consult Dumbledore's portrait. Passing by several windows, he could see that it was night. The sky was pitch black and the grounds were cloaked in darkness. There was no sign of life outside the castle.

Then he hit someone and fell down. Albus Dumbledore extended his hand as a sign of greeting, making Harry, who was lying on the floor, feel awkward. Here was the supposedly-dead Headmaster looking alive and well, if a little tired. He had his nightcap on, and held a steaming mug in his hand. _Hot chocolate,_ Harry thought. He took the hand of the tall man and was helped to his feet.

"I see you are awake, Mister..." Dumbledore's voice trailed off.

"Potter. Harry Potter," Harry replied quickly, feeling uneasy. _Even the old man doesn't remember me!_

"Potter. Curious, very curious," Dumbledore said, reminding the boy of Ollivander, the wandmaker.

"Sorry, but what's curious?"

"All in good time, Mr Potter. We have some things to discuss. It is best if we hurry along." The Headmaster signaled Harry to follow him.

Just then, Madam Pomfrey came into view, panting, mumbling something about a rude patient and pointed at Harry.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster. He ran away..."

Dumbledore didn't think much of it. "It is alright, Poppy. I will take it from here. Come, my boy."

Before he went after him, Harry called out to the mediwitch, thanking her for helping him. Who else in Hogwarts could have healed his cuts with such perfection? Then he went after the old man, leaving behind a confused Poppy Pomfrey.

Dumbledore led Harry down a familiar path. The short journey was quiet, apart from Dumbledore's humming in between sips of hot chocolate. To put it short, Harry felt extremely uncomfortable. What was going to happen to him now? The two came to a stop before the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Head's office.

"Mars Bars," Dumbledore spoke the password, which brought a faint smile on Harry's face.

The revolving staircase took them up. The first thing Harry caught sight of when he entered the room was the beautiful phoenix that was perched near the messy desk. The phoenix turned its head when the two wizards entered, its eyes coming to rest on the younger of the two. Without a second thought, Harry went to stroke the bird.

"Fawkes, it's good to see you."

The bird trilled melodiously, bending its head so that Harry could stroke its neck.

"You are certainly an intriguing person, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling brightly. "You know Fawkes, it seems. What is more surprising is that he seems to like you. I guess we can put aside the idea of you being a danger to the school."

Harry raised his eyebrows at this. Why was he a danger to the school?Dumbledore noticed the look of puzzlement on the boy's face and asked him to take a seat in front of the desk on a fat red armchair, himself going to sit on the chair behind the desk. With a wave of his hand, cleared the desk. Harry's eyes widened at this display of wandless magic.

"You have to excuse me, I have been rather busy," the Headmaster said. "Now onto business. I'm sure you are aware that you are at Hogwarts. Am I right?"

Harry nodded, and Dumbledore resumed speaking.

"What I don't understand is how you got here. Mr. Giles, the caretaker, found you unconscious in the Great Hall. Why would that be, Mr Potter?"

Harry mumbled, "I don't know, sir. Am I dead?"

Dumbledore chuckled, "No, I assure you, you are not dead. But you would have been had it not been for Madam Pomfrey, being knocked out for a week and a half and all. It seems that you were in the midst of a battle when you somehow ended up here."

"A week and a half?! And yeah, I was fighting Voldemort!" he said with a little more force than intended.

Dumbledore's eyes widened. Harry, who had previously thought that nothing could surprise the Headmaster, was taken aback.

"Voldemort? The Dark Lord?" Dumbledore asked, curiosity clearly visible in the depths of his blue eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Of course, I am! I've been fighting him since I was eleven! One, if you count the first time he attacked. Oh, god! I've failed them!" Harry's voice wavered.

"So you mean to say that you were transported form the Ministry to Hogwarts, having survived a fight against the Dark Lord?"

"Ministry? He was at Hogwarts! The whole castle's supposed to be a wreck. You're not even supposed to be here! Y-y-you're dead!"

The portraits, who had been listening in on the conversation, collectively gasped. A woman, whom Harry recognised as Dilys Derwent, spoke up angrily:

"Mind your tongue, boy! Why would Albus be dead?"

Harry was beginning to have a headache by now. His mind was a mess. He couldn't think clearly. This was all a dream, that's it, a dream! To check if his hypothesis was correct, the boy pinched his leg. The slight pain did not help in waking him up. _There goes that idea._ Dumbledore had decided to change the topic for now and was looking in his a drawer for something. He withdrew a wand from it and placed it on the table.

_The Elder Wand!_ Harry thought.

"Do you know what this is?" Dumbledore asked, a faint smile on his face.

"Of course, I do! It's the Elder Wand! It's all because of this stupid thing that this happened!" Harry had to actively restrain himself from leaping to break the stick in his hand.

The Headmaster put one hand into a pocket and drew out another wand. This looked exactly like the Elder Wand. _It can't be, there's only one of them!_

"And yet, this is the Elder Wand," Dumbledore said in a placid voice. Despite the calmness of the voice, Harry could sense excitement oozing from the old wizard. "Tell me exactly what happened."

Harry launched into an explanation of how he was fighting Voldemort with a borrowed wand when the two spells had collided with each other and the Avada Kedavra had managed to overpower his Expelliarmus. He didn't remember anything after that until he woke up in the hospital bed.

"...and that's how it happened. Why did the curse hit me when I owned the Elder Wand? Why am I still alive?" Harry ended his explanation.

Dumbledore looked positively gleeful. "My boy, it seems that the wand DID give you its allegiance. But the fact remains that this wand is beyond powerful. The Avada Kedavra could not be stopped by a mere Disarming Charm. The spell hit you but did not kill you. I can only come to one conclusion."

"And that is?" Harry asked, fearing the worst.

"You were transported to another dimension and the wand came along with you. This is revolutionary!"

Once again, Harry was about to faint. Once again, he was given water to drink. Once again, this did little to calm him down.

"Professor, is there a way to return to my, er, dimension?" he asked fearfully.

Dumbledore's smile gave way to a grave look. "I'm afraid not. It seems that you are stuck here."

Harry could not believe it. This was worse than dying. At least he could have "watched over" or whatever over his friends by being dead. This wasn't supposed to happen. He felt like tearing his hair out and cursing the Fates. Voldemort had won. It took him almost two decades, but he had defeated his "equal". Harry Potter had failed his friends. The Saviour had failed the Wizarding World.

"Professor, can I have the wand back?" he inquired.

"Ah, yes. I believe it still belongs to you since you weren't exactly defeated by another wand." The wand was handed to the boy. "Give it a wave."

And so he did. Golden and silver stars shot out of the tip and the room became warmer than earlier as a sudden gust of wind blew and then died down. Faint streaks of lightning were circling the wand and their crackling could be heard. Dumbledore's twinkling eyes shone brighter.

"Wonderful! Wonderful!" he exclaimed.

"Professor?" Harry asked, putting the wand on the table. "What exactly is going on here? Why do you call Voldemort the Dark Lord? Why would I be at the Ministry?"

"Because that is what he is! The Dark Lord. The Lord of Wizarding Britain. Though he presents himself as Minister Riddle."

"WHAT? HE'S MINISTER?! WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?!" Harry yelled.

"Calm down, Mr Potter. Since twenty years. The ruler of Britain and other parts of Europe. Germany, France, Norway and Denmark to name a few. The new generation cannot remember a time when 'the Dark Lord' did not rule over them. Muggleborns are taken away from their families and squibs are seen as a disgrace. Pureblood elitism is rampant."

"And no one tried to stop him?"

"Of course, they did. But, I'm sorry to say, no one has been successful."

"What about the Order of the Phoenix?" Harry questioned.

Dumbledore's head jerked up. "How do you know of the Order?"

"I was sort of an unofficial member."

"Remarkable. Yes, the Order exists, but we are powerless. Voldemort's hold is too strong. How old are you, Mr Potter?" he asked.

Harry thought for a bit and answered, "I'll be eighteen on the thirty-first of July. And please call me Harry, the other you always did."

"This July? 1997?"

Harry nodded.

Dumbledore continued, "You are seventeen then, Harry. You arrived here on the tenth of August and today is the twentieth."

"Impossible! It was the second of May-1998 when I fought the Dark Lord."

"You can call him Voldemort if you want to, Harry. He has better things to do than worry about young wizards saying his name. And as for the date, do you mean to say that you don't believe in a little time-travel when you have just crossed into another dimension?"

This shut Harry up. The man had a point. When he didn't speak up, Dumbledore decided to break the silence:

"Harry, would you be willing to tell me why a boy as young as you has been fighting Voldemort for his whole life, if what you mentioned earlier is true? Please do not leave anything out."

Sitting up straight, Harry began his whole story, starting from when Voldemort targeted his parents. He spoke of how he had grown up in the muggle world, of the Philosopher's Stone, of the Chamber of Secrets, of the Triwizard Tournament and Voldemort's 'resurrection', the smear campaign against him and Dumbledore, the horcruxes, Dumbledore's death and the final battle. The whole story was condensed into the space of an hour and by the end, Harry almost had tears in his eyes. Telling his own life's story made him realise how much he had faced. By the look on his face, Harry could tell that the old man was bursting with questions.

"That's quite a story, Harry. I am sorry, no child should have to suffer so much," said Dumbledore in a low voice.

When Harry nodded, Dumbledore asked him, "Who were your parents, Harry?"

"Lily and James Potter."

"And they were against Voldemort?"

"Of course..."

"You asked me why I had said 'curious' earlier when I heard your name," Dumbledore voiced. "James and Lily were among Voldemort's key enforcers before they were killed."

Harry's heart almost leapt into his throat.

"My parents would never do that!"

"I am sorry, but they did follow him. So that means that you were never born here. In a way, that makes it easier for you to fit in here."

"Easier?" Harry's voice rose. "How would it make it easier?!"

"There is no other you. Imagine the problems if another me popped up here. I'd never hear the end of it! What troubles me is that why was Voldemort after you?"

"There was this prophecy by Sybill Trelawney."

Dumbledore sighed, "I didn't think that poor girl had it in her. What did it say?"

Harry recited the prophecy word for word. Once he was done, the room as enveloped by silence once again, the only sounds being that of Fawkes, the strange instruments that the old man loved and the portraits who looked uneasy at the revelations.

Dumbledore spoke up, "And you say that Voldemort made horcruxes. Tell me about them."

"Well, er, there were seven horcruxes. (This drew gasps from the portraits) Actually, he only intended to make six. I was the unintentional seventh. But the horcrux in me was destroyed when he tried to kill me. We managed to destroy all of them."

"That might explain why he isn't dead. But he can't have made more than six, I believe, as you did not exist here. Of course, I shall have to see into this matter."

Harry sighed. So much effort had been put into destroying those damned things and now Harry was at the start. What did the fates have against him?

"Could you name them for me?" the old man asked.

And name them Harry did: the diary, the locket, the ring, the cup, the diadem and the snake, Nagini.

"You have been of great help to me Harry. I cannot possibly thank you enough. Now, we must decide what to do with you. You said that you didn't attend your last year at school. That would make life for you difficult out in the world," said the man.

Harry spoke, "But am I not too old? I'm still eighteen, no matter what dimension."

"You're never too old, dear boy. I'd like to make up for whatever wrongs the other me did by keeping you in the dark. Are you willing to fight once again? I must ask this of you."

At first, Harry was reluctant, but then he remembered how he had left his friends at the mercy of Voldemort. He couldn't let that happen in both dimensions. He would fight.

"I would love to."

"Then it's decided. You shall begin your seventh year in little more than a week. There is the problem of your name, though. Potter is a little too conspicuous, if I do say so myself."

Harry thought about it. Black? No. Lupin? Maybe. Evans? Too muggle. Peverell? That might be it. If he had been right, he WAS a Peverell.

"Peverell, Professor?"

Dumbledore's eyebrows furrowed. "So you know?"

"Know what?"

"That the Potters were descended from the Peverells. I doubt anyone apart from me knows that. Excuse me if that sounds a little boastful. The Peverell name itself has been lost in the pages of history."

"I had a hunch. I used to have this Invisibility Cloak. It was perfect. It belonged to my father, yet it never lost its touch."

"Correct. James Potter did have a Cloak. It was among the items confiscated when he and his wife were, er, killed. (Harry winced) I had my hunches." Dumbledore smiled.

He made his way to a trunk and waved his hand to unlock it. From its depths he withdrew a glittering cloak. Harry smiled when he realised what it was. He graciously accepted it from the Headmaster. It reminded him of the time when he had first got it. Dumbledore went over to a register and wrote something, closed it, and placed it back on the shelf.

"So it is decided. Harry James Peverell will attend Hogwarts from the 1st of September, 1997. You moved to America when you were ten. You were orphaned after your sixth year and have therefore returned to Britain-"

"Where you are my closest living relative," Harry interrupted.

"Well, yes. That should explain your accent, I think, if you lived here for ten years. Now all that's left is explaining it to the teachers. I do not think it wise to tell them of your 'otherworldly' origins, not yet at least."

"Will I be staying in Gryffindor tower then?" the boy asked.

"No, no. You must be resorted in front of the whole school. Of course, if you belong in Gryffindor, you have no need to worry as that is where you shall go again."

Harry wasn't so sure about that, but he did not think it wise to mention his concerns.

"One final thing, Harry," Dumbledore said solemnly, "Beware. Though you may find several similarities between your and this world, all is not the same. Beware."

Harry nodded and picked up his new wand and tried to stuff it into his pocket. It was then that it dawned upon him that he was still in the patient gown. He groaned.

"Professor, there's one more problem."

"Yes?"

"I'm going to need new clothes."

* * *

_There you go._

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	3. Suicide

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

_Thanks to everyone who favourited this.  
_

_Also, be warned of OOCness, but then that's to be expected from such a story.  
_

* * *

The next eleven days passed without anything of note happening for Harry Potter, or Harry Peverell as he had renamed himself, who had not spent the whole time inside Hogwarts' library, going through recent history in an effort to catch up. It would not do to know nothing about this 'new' universe where he was supposed to live in. It still took him some time to get used to the fact that this was all real. The very notion of multiple dimensions existing alongside each other was mind-boggling. For him, his 'other' life had been what was real. To find out that there were hundreds, if not thousands, of different realities coexisting side by side, was, to say the least, a strange feeling.

It had come to his knowledge that Voldemort (or the Dark Lord, as he was called) had risen to power around two decades ago, slowly gathering followers and amassing enough strength that he had been able to overthrow the Ministry, which had grown complacent overtime and was unable to stand up to him. What came as a surprise to Harry was that most of society had accepted Voldemort as their leader, despite his hardline stand against anyone who did not have magic.

He was seen as a sort of Messiah who would restore wizarding society to what it had once been. Years of breeding between muggleborns/muggles and wizards had weakened their strength. Whereas in the past, wizards and witches of Merlin's stature had not been rare, now they were almost nonexistent. This had led to the birth of squibs - a group that had rarely been heard of in days long gone. A promise to mend all this drew the masses to the Dark Lord, who, with the assistance of his followers, replaced the Minister of Magic as the leader of wizarding Britain.

But Britain was just the beginning. His influence spread to neighbouring countries. Ireland was the first to fall, closely followed by France. Now he was the ruler of Britain, Ireland, Germany, France, Norway, Portugal and Denmark. Not one of the other countries stood up against him. They stood no chance, not against the wizard who, along with Albus Dumbledore, was considered the strongest in modern times. Even Dumbledore hadn't been able to stop him, owing to lack of support and resources. Now he was just the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If the Dark Lord wanted him out of there, he would need to bring an army to his gates. That was not exactly something that the ruler of what you might call an empire would have time to do. So he wanted to train young wizards? So be it. _He must have a really strong hold over everything if he's confident that Dumbledore won't brainwash kids against him_, Harry had thought.

Muggleborn children were taken away from their families once their magic was detected by the Ministry, and the families were made to forget everything about them. They were placed in special orphanages and trained as servants, not permitted to attend a school for magic. Their magic gradually depleted and they were nothing but muggles anymore. This had continued for several years until it was decided that even having them as servants was to much of a burden on the resources of the wizarding world, so a sort of vaccine had been developed which was administered to such children, suppressing their magic and thus making it possible for them to live with no fear of their magic going awry. Of course, these people did not even know that they had magic, it was just an injection to prevent against some disease. _Or maybe they just Obliviated them_. Unfortunately for squibs, they were not spared and were made to work for the people who actually had magic. Halfbloods, on the other hand, were a different case. There hadn't been any registered muggle-wizard marriages since the Dark Lord's rise to power, and the ones you found now were ones whose parents were both wizards, at least one a halfblood.

Dumbledore had made arrangements for him to attend the school. He was added to the roll as 'Harry Peverell', the great-grandson of a cousin of the headmaster. The caretaker and Madam Pomfrey had been Obliviated by Dumbledore to make them forget how Harry had arrived. As none of the other teacher's had been at school, it had been relatively easy to make Harry fit in. To his surprise, Harry discovered that there were quite a few familiar faces among the staff. Sprout and Flitwick were still the same. McGonagall was the Transfiguration instructor and deputy headmistress. To his delight, Snape was not a member of the teaching staff. Apparently, he was making a fortune as a potion-brewer in Diagon Alley. Instead, potions was being taught by Professor Garrick Runcorn, a short blonde man with close-cropped hair and a deep, monotonous voice to match the bored expression that always marred his aging face. In addition to that, he was head of Slytherin. Defence Against the Dark Arts was taken by a German-born English witch, Helena Klein. Apart from them, Harry hadn't really bothered learning about the others as he wasn't going to take other subjects. What he did find conspicuous was the absence of Hagrid. According to Dumbledore, he had never been expelled from Hogwarts and was now working at a dragon reserve in Romania.

* * *

September 1st arrived and students crowded into the hall, filling the normally quiet castle with the sound of laughter and conversation. Harry was told to wait in a chamber just next to the teachers' table, and that was what he did. Once the returning students were seated, the doors to the Great Hall swung open once more to make way for the First Years. After the Hat's usual song, Harry tried to listen for a name that he recognised, but he did not find any. Once everything was done, Dumbledore's voice boomed over the noise of the students, silencing them.

"To our new students, welcome! To our old students, welcome back!" he called. "Now before we dig in, there are a few announcements to make. But even before that, there is something that needs to be dealt with. Hogwarts will be hosting a seventh-year transfer student from the United States who is here to take his NEWTS."

Murmurs ran across the hall as to who this student was.

Dumbledore continued, "So we have one more sorting to make. Please welcome Mr Harry Peverell."

Taking that to be his cue, Harry walked out into the hall and felt the eyes of the entire student body follow him. He was beginning to feel his cheeks burn, but he managed to keep his head up high and took his place on the stool where McGonagall stood with the Sorting Hat in her hand. Dumbledore straightened in chair. The last sight that he saw was many pairs of eyes looking up at him, and then there was darkness as the Hat took its place on his head.

For a while, Harry just sat there without anything happening. Finally, he heard the Hat whispering in his ear.

"Hmm, this is certainly peculiar. You're not from here are you, Harry Potter, if you know what I mean?"

"No," Harry said. His voice did not come out of his mind, but the Hat heard him.

"Interesting. You are a most difficult case. You have courage and a thirst to prove yourself. But you already know that. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

Harry though that he saw the Hat wink in his mind's eye.

The Hat kept speaking, "You've seen a lot and you want to get away from it all. But that urge to do something noteworthy is still inside you, as if you have not done enough. Any ideas where you might go to?"

"No. That's your job. Do it," he thought. This time he would let the hat go about its business without interrupting.

"Have it your way. As I once said, if your mind is to believed, you will do best in SLYTHERIN!"

As the Slytherin burst into polite applause, Harry removed the hat and made his way to the table of his new house, thinking of what had happened. So what if he was in Slytherin? His lips twitched when he thought of what Ron would have to say at that. Taking a seat at the far end of the table, next to a raven-haired girl, he felt the gaze of his housemates on him. He could hear them whispering, though he was unable to make out what it was that they were actually saying. What Harry did feel was unwelcome. No one congratulated him on having made it into Slytherin, despite the fact that they had clapped for him. So Harry directed his attention to Dumbledore who made the usual speech about not going into the Forbidden Forest and the like.

"...Now let us dig in!"

Food appeared on every table and there were a lot of comments like "finally" and "I'm starving". Grabbing a plate, Harry piled his plate with food and began to wolf it down. He missed the taste of Hogwarts food. Yes, he had spent over a week at the school, but the taste of the feast was always special somehow and he made sure to savour every bite. Around him, people caught up with each other and discussed how they had spent their vacation. Opposite Harry, sat a nervous First Year, his dark brown hair falling onto his eyes which were widened as he stared at Harry.

"What?" Harry frowned.

"How can you eat so much?" the boy asked.

"I'm hungry, shh."

With that, he resumed his assault on his food, eating to his fill. Finally, it was time to return to the Common Room. The Prefects gathered the First Years, asking them to follow them. Harry, who already knew where the Common Room was, hesitated at first. He did not want to be treated as some kid, but if he made his way himself, it might lead to some suspicion. Swallowing his pride, he followed the Prefects down to the dungeons. They halted in front of the stone wall and the male Prefect, some Seventh Year, told everyone that you had to use a password to enter.

"Parseltongue." _Interesting password_, Harry thought.

As soon as the word was uttered, the wall moved aside, revealing the Slytherin Common Room, a long chamber illuminated by green lamps. Green and black sofas were arranged in an orderly manner in the center and next to the walls. Skulls looked on from their shelves, and dark wood cupboards containing Merlin knew what stood under the aforementioned shelves. It was a rather disturbing feeling to think that the lake was above all this and it might suddenly decide to start draining into the room. All activity in the room came to a halt as soon as the First Years (and Harry) entered. Though there were some students who threw the younger students looks of appraisal, most only had eyes for Harry, their faces laced with curiosity or disgust or both.

The prefect nudged him forward, whispering in his ear, "Peverell, doesn't look like you're gonna have an easy time here. What you do now is probably going to be what shapes their opinions. Go."

Some people may have thought that the prefect was being friendly, but not Harry. He could see that the prefect wanted him off his hands, but not because he had a problem with him. The boy needed to show the new students their dormitories and probably could not stand the glares of everyone on him while he went about this job. So it was best to get Harry away from him.

Harry nodded.

"Okay then, this is your common room. Best not stay here any longer. Come and see the dormitories," the prefect called out, leading the new students to a door at the end of the room. The First Years shuffled after him, eventually disappearing from view.

The silence in the room was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. This was it. He needed to show them that he was no pushover. Letting slip any sign of trepidation would be equivalent to committing social suicide. So he smirked and raised an eyebrow, throwing questioning looks at everyone.

"Anyone got a problem with me?" he voiced.

A few people stood up but before anyone could speak, a snort of derision echoed. Two girls stepped aside to reveal a third, very familiar girl seated on one of the couches. If the circumstances had been different, he would have at least gasped. Sure, her brown hair was more wavy than bushy and was streaked with blond. Sure, her face did not have that usual concern on it, haughtiness having taken its place. But it was her. There was no doubt about it.

"So the mudblood has some backbone," Hermione Granger taunted. "Pity that it won't help you here."

"And you are?" Harry inquired, trying to look as if he didn't know her.

"Granger. Hermione Granger."

"Well, Granger, I hate to disappoint you, but I'm halfblood." Harry knew better than to think of her as his old friend.

Her face twisted into a scowl and her voice rose a little. "Of course you are. Why would a 'real' mudblood even be here, not that you're any better, Peverell?"

"Where does that leave you?" Harry questioned.

The fleeting look of anger on Hermione's face was instantly replaced by a mocking smile. She stood up and made her way to Harry until she was a few steps away from him, and gave him a condescending look. Harry felt that it would have been more impressive if she had been taller than him. But then he noticed that she was twirling her wand in her fingers. She wouldn't attack him, would she? Nah.

"It seems you don't know how things work around here. Either your blood is pure, or you're nobody," she said. "You're not from here so I'll let it slide. The Grangers are among the noblest of families that filth like you will ever come across."

_That was to be expected,_ Harry thought. Why would she be an arrogant Slytherin if she wasn't a pure-blood? Everything really was different. Well, almost everything. Dumbledore was still the same - sort of.

A dark-skinned boy with shoulder length dark hair decided to ask what was bothering everyone: "How did someone like you make it here?"

Harry directed his gaze towards him. Not someone that he knew.

"I might tell you if I knew your name."

The boy spoke through clenched teeth, "Everard Rookwood."

"Well, Rookwood, I wish I knew. Blame that Hat of yours. Also, why does everyone automatically assume that I'm not a pure-blood?"

Granger answered, "No one's heard of the Peverells. And then you don't have that certain air around you."

"Ah, yes," Harry frowned. "That air of pride, of being better than everyone else. I'd rather not be pure-blooded, thank you very much. I expect those Gryffindors to be more welcoming. They did seem interested when I walked out for my sorting."

"How very Gryffindorly of them," remarked a pale boy with a crooked nose. "I bet they'd take in half-breeds like you."

There were murmurs of assent at this.

"Stark here is right, you know," drawled Hermione. "You'd be welcome there. Dumbledore was one them, too, that old fool."

Harry merely yawned. Yes, he was trying to irritate her, but he really was tired and not in the mood to deal with more of such bigotry.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll be going to bed. It certainly has been a long day, but I don't think I'll like sharing a dormitory with people like you."

One of the girls who had earlier been engaged in conversation with Hermione looked affronted at such remarks from Harry and decided to speak up.

"'People like us' aren't exactly keen on living with you either, you know?"

Once again, voices spoke up in agreement. _That's right,_ Harry smirked inside, _Get under their skin. Don't let them get the better of you, and you'll be perfectly fine. Maybe._ He knew that if he replied, the argument could very well continue into the early hours of the morning, but if he didn't reply, he might look like someone who was only pretending to be strong.

Just as he was going to open his mouth, the Rookwood boy said, "Yes, so why don't you be a good halfblood, as you like to be called, and go to bed. We're all victims here."

Hermione Granger nodded. "Exactly. We aren't keen on having you here, in case you didn't notice. So hush now." She made a shooing gesture as if he was some rodent.

Harry, who was growing tired of this, decided to leave even if he felt that they were treating him in a condescending manner (which they were, of course). Replying would only serve to lengthen the spat and they would be stuck down there until the wee hours of the morning or until a teacher came to check on them. So he pointed towards the door that the prefect had taken the First Years through.

"I assume that's where I'll find the dormitories then. Can I trust you not to kill me in the middle of the night?"

"No. No, you can't," the Stark boy spoke up.

"Shut up, Stark," snapped Granger. "We may not like you, but we don't go around murdering people in their sleep. When they're awake, maybe, but not when they're asleep."

Harry smiled and tilted his head. "Some would call that a Gryffindor trait, you know, being gallant and not attacking a weakened foe."

"Would you prefer to die?" Hermione frowned.

"No, no," Harry said. "I'll be going now. Good night, Hermione. I think I'll call you that - Hermione."

A few sniggers were heard. The furious girl's hand tightened around her wand but before she could take action, Harry walked past her and went through the door, coming into a small chamber with two doors - one labelled 'Boys', the other, 'Girls'. He took the one on the left and found himself in a passageway with more doors. _Is it just me or do Slytherins like their doors too much?_ Harry thought. Each door had a number from 1 to 7 on it, denoting the year. Number 7 was at the end of the passage. Harry pushed it open and found himself in the room where he would sleep for the rest of the year.

The room was rectangular, unlike the circular dormitory of Gryffindor Tower. The walls were covered in dark green wallpaper and there was a large mat in the center with the Slytherin emblem on it. Six four-poster beds with black and silver bedding stood against the walls, two with the wall opposite the door, and two each on Harry's left and right. There were no windows, which was to be expected since they were in the dungeons, deep underground. On one side of each bed was a nightstand with a jug of water and a glass. At the foot of each bed was the trunk of whichever student would sleep on that bed. He found that he had been provided with one, too, courtesy of Dumbledore.

His bed was the one on the right, opposite the door. In a flash, he had changed into his blue pyjamas. Dumbledore had originally offered to get him some red ones with golden snitches on them, but that had been too horrifying. He would never hear the end of it if someone saw him like that, so he had settled for plain white ones. Placing the Elder Wand carefully on the bedside table, he jumped into bed, pulling the soft sheets over himself. Harry Potter was thinking of what tomorrow would bring when something occurred to him.

He had committed social suicide.

* * *

_There you have it, folks. I hope you liked it. Reviews are welcome._


	4. Classes

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

_Once again, thanks to everyone who favourited this._

* * *

Harry Peverell was up early next morning - early enough to find his roommates asleep. Groaning, he stretched and dragged his legs onto the floor. He was not looking forward to today, having done a splendid job of befriending the Slytherins last night. Wondering what lay in store for him, he opened his trunk to take out a fresh pair of clothes for the day, along with his robes which now had the Slytherin emblem on the breast-pocket. Harry dragged himself into the bathroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror. _Not dirty enough. No need to take a bath now._ So all he did was throw some water on his face and he was out in his new robes.

Surreptitiously, he grabbed his wand and left the dormitory, heading to the Common Room, hoping that he wouldn't find anyone there. Although he couldn't avoid his housemates forever, there was nothing wrong in delaying meeting them, was there? In Harry's opinion, there wasn't. He was in luck. There was no one in there. He made for the stone wall at the other end of the chamber. There was one problem - the boy didn't know how to open it. With the Fat Lady, all you had to do was give the portrait a little push. That wasn't exactly something you could do to a wall, but there wasn't exactly any harm in trying. He tried. It didn't work - not that he had expected it to. Maybe sweeping his hand on it would work, as if he were trying to brush it aside. That failed, too. Then it hit him. It was simple.

"Parseltongue."

That did the job. The stone wall slid aside silently, revealing the exit. Having accomplished this great feat, Harry made for the Great Hall. The corridors were mostly deserted except for the occasional ghost passing by or some student out for an early morning stroll. If he was right, breakfast would soon be served. Sure enough, as soon as he stepped into the hall, as if on cue, the dishes on the tables filled up. Harry could see that he wasn't the only early bird. A pair of Hufflepuff girls was busy chatting away animatedly, and a Ravenclaw with a shaved head was immersed in a book and did not even notice that breakfast had been served. The Head Table was occupied by someone whose face Harry could not see, but he didn't need to see it to know that it was Professor Flitwick. Who else could be completely concealed by a dish of fruit?

Harry, on the other hand, was as hungry as a bear. Last night's feast seemed like a distant memory. Grabbing himself a plate of scrambled eggs, sausages and toast, along with a glass of orange juice, Harry set about pleasing his taste buds. Students began pouring into the Hall. His 'fellow' Slytherins made sure to keep their distance from him, occasionally shooting him glares. Harry wasn't bothered. He turned around to lock eyes with Hermione Granger who was glaring daggers at him. Seizing the opportunity, Harry gave her an impertinent grin and resumed stuffing his mouth.

Someone tapped his shoulder. Harry jerked his head around to find Professor McGonagall holding a bundle of papers.

"Good morning, Professor," Harry greeted.

"Good morning, Mr. Peverell. I trust you've managed to fit in," she said, giving him a knowing look.

"Er, sort of. I'll get the hang of it eventually."

She nodded and handed him a sheet of paper. "That, Peverell, is your timetable. Classes start at nine. Do not be late!"

"No need to worry, Professor," Harry smiled, taking the timetable and letting the woman move on.

He ran his eyes over the day's schedule. It was Tuesday, and he would be starting with double Potions, followed by Defence Against the Dark Arts. He wondered how those two classes would turn out, never having studied under the current professors. It wasn't long before mail arrived, mainly comprising letters for the First Years, their parents inquiring about everything had turned out. Harry looked at the time. It was getting close to 9 am. Best to go now. He jogged to the Common Room to get his bag, and then made for the Potions dungeon. He reached it a few minutes before nine, but the class was locked. There wasn't anyone near the dungeon and he could no hear anyone inside.

"Lost?" A voice called out.

Harry turned to find the prefect from last night coming up to him, running a hand through his his jet black hair.

"I think so. I presumed potions would be held somewhere in the dungeons, seeing as the teacher's our Head," Harry said, thinking of it as an apt excuse.

"Meh," the boy waved his hand. "It's up on the second floor. The professor doesn't like it down here. Follow me."

Harry raised his eyebrow. Why was this prefect, who had been eager to get away from him last night, helping him now? He couldn't be leading him into some trap, could he? Highly unlikely.

"Say," Harry said, "Don't mean to be rude or anything, but why are you helping me?"

"So you don't want me to help? Fine by me."

The boy was going to turn around, but Harry stopped him.

"No, no. It's just that everyone wasn't exactly welcoming last night."

"Oh, they're just spoilt purebloods. Never mind them."

"So you're not a pureblood?"

"I am, but I'm not spoilt," he grinned, extending his hand. "I'm Castor Black. Follow me."

Harry took it, shook it, and began to follow him. "Nice to meet someone who isn't so close-minded. Sorry, but I thought that the Blacks weren't so tolerant of others."

"They aren't. But my dad, Regulus, isn't like that. So I sort of grew up in a better environment."

Regulus Black. Harry's stomach gave a jolt. Sirius...

"So you must be isolated from the rest of that family of yours. Don't you have any uncles or aunts?"

"Er, yeah. We're not exactly popular among them. But I guess I'm lucky that I can at least manage here. Good pureblood, bad pureblood, bah. Still a pureblood. And I had an uncle. Sirius Black. He was killed a few years ago, some drunken quarrel. Good man," Castor spoke, sadly.

Harry's heart sank. Dead. At least he wasn't some pureblood supremacist if Castor liked him.

"I'm sorry. Enough about me, where are you from?"

Harry decided to go with the story that he had made up with the Headmaster.

"America. Well, I moved there when I was ten and went to this little school named Massachusetts Academy of Magic. It's not very well known."

He had chosen that name because although the Academy was real, it wasn't considered one of the major schools of the United States, so no one would probably know it well enough to figure out if he was telling the truth when he told them about his time there.

"But then you came back here. Why's that?"

"My parents died..."

The other boy spoke, "Oh, sorry."

Harry could see that he wasn't truly sorry. He only said that to appear kind, but he couldn't blame him. They didn't know each other well enough to have any true thoughts about each other's situation.

"Tsk," Harry voiced. "I moved here because Professor Dumbledore's sort of a great grand-uncle to me."

"Whoa. That's a surprise. So he does have family. I knew it."

Before Harry could say anything, boys had reached the Potions classroom. The bell signalling 9 am rung.

"Well, Harry," Castor spoke formally, "It was nice meeting you, but it's best for us if we don't really appear friendly. Come inside a little after me."

Harry nodded. He understood the need for the boy to maintain a good rapport with the Slytherins. It must have been a little problematic for him to try and get them to treat him properly, seeing as his father might be considered a blood traitor by some. He must have done something right, seeing as he was now a seventh-year prefect, which was a position second only to the Head students.

After a minute, Harry entered the classroom. Fortunately, the students didn't quiet down upon seeing him and continued talking to each other. Slytherin and Gryffindor. The teacher had not yet arrived and Harry looked around for an empty. He found one in the last row of the 'Slytherin side' of the class, next to Castor Black, who gave a slight nod. Without displaying emotion on his face, he sat down and put his bag down. It felt good to sit down after going from the dungeons to the second floor. He caught sight of Granger sitting two rows ahead of him. Harry had the distinct feeling that she was purposely avoiding looking at him because she swept her eyes around every now and then but always stopped before she came to him. _Probably thinks she's too good to give trash like me the time of day_.

Then the door to the class opened and the short Professor Runcorn entered, holding some books. The class stood up.

"Good morning, Professor!" the students said in unison.

"Yes, yes, morning," he said, looking slightly vexed. "You've had me for what, three years? Yes, three years. I've told you not to stand up as long as you shut up."

Everyone sat down quietly and waited for the professor to make his move.

"So, yes, welcome to a new year and all that," he sighed. "You will need to work extra hard now. Remember, whatever you do now will affect your career paths and thus your life. So those of you who are lagging behind, buck up. And I understand that we have a new student in our midst."

His eyes scanned the room for Harry and came to rest on him, along with a few other pairs of eyes. Although Harry had been told of the professor earlier, he had not met him face to face. His gaze, unlike Snape's, didn't make Harry uncomfortable.

"Ah, Mr. Peverell. I hope you went through the syllabus covered in the past year. Are you up to the mark?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied. "Professor Dumbledore gave me a copy of it. I'll manage."

The syllabus was almost the same as what Harry had covered in his sixth year, so he didn't think that he would have a problem.

"Right, then. Let's get on, shall we? Today you are going to brew quite a complex potion. It is called 'The Elixir to Induce Euphoria'. Yes, a very creative name. As usual, the instructions *he waved his wand* are on the board and in your book 'Advanced Potion-Making, Year 2'. Work in pairs. You have one hour. Begin!"

Another wave of his wand, and the professor made a cauldron appear next to each pair and ith that, the man took his seat and pulled out a magazine to read, leaving the class to work on its own. Harry turned to Castor and told him to look at the board.

"Look. Castor beans."

Castor narrowed his eyes, "Seriously?"

"Fine, be that way," Harry groaned.

He knew this potion, having brewed it in his sixth year when he was unable to take part in the Apparition exam. The potion had been perfect but only because Harry had followed the heavily altered recipe written by Severus Snape. Harry smiled when he realised how well he still remembered it and turned to look at what his partner was doing. Castor had almost added the Shrivelfig when Harry jumped forward.

"No, no! Don't do that. Add the porcupine quills first," he whispered.

"Are you crazy?" the boy gasped. "You'll ruin it."

"No! I've done this before. If it doesn't work, er, kill me."

"Come on, why would I kill you?"

"Just listen to me."

"Fine," Castor yielded, replacing the Shrivelfig with the quills. "You better be right, Peverell."

"Don't worry. I am."

As they went about the brewing process, Harry decided to ask the boy a few questions. It wouldn't hurt to take advantage of this time and get to know what and who he was dealing with. There had been several things bothering him.

"Hey, Black," Harry said, using his surname, "What's Granger's problem?"

"Oh, yeah. I heard you pissed her off last night. Good going. The Grangers are really high up in the Ministry. They're close to the Dark Lord, I believe."

"What? Voldemort's death eaters?" Harry gasped.

Castor's eyes widened and he spoke in a hushed voice, "Merlin, Peverell. You don't call him that. He's the Dark Lord. What are you, insane?"

"Sorry."

"Make sure it doesn't happen again. You're in a house with the kids of many Ministry people, and as everyone knows, if you're high up in the Ministry, you're close to the Dark Lord."

"Right. So she's from the cream dela cream of pureblood society?"

"Crème de la crème, not cream, but yeah."

Harry shrugged. "So she must be pretty important among Slytherins."

"You could say that, but she's not the only one you know. Rookwood's father is right up there, too."

"Augustus?" Harry guessed.

The other boy nodded. The potion was about to overflow and he proceeded to lower the flame. There was another thing that had been bothering Harry ever since he had come across Hermione.

"What do you know of the Weasleys, C-Black?" Harry asked.

"Now there's a name I haven't heard in a while. They're certified blood-traitors here. Moved to the States ages ago. I figured you would know them, but I guess that country's too big, eh?"

"Very." Harry's heart sank once again. His best friend was somewhere in America. He might even never have been born! It did not make any difference where Ronald Weasley was. The truth was that in this world, he and never met Harry Potter/Peverel. Seeing as now Harry was a Slytherin, he probably wouldn't even want to meet him now. He would certainly think that Harry was just a slimy snake.

"Say, Peverell. How did you know about them?"

"Oh, they were friends with my grandfather way back in the past. I've seen pictures of them."

Black bought it. Harry looked around the class to see how everyone else was progressing. A few Gryffindors were coughing because of the fumes that were rising out of their cauldrons. His eyes moved to another pair where a girl was busy scolding a boy for putting the wrong ingredient first. Harry smiled. If only they knew... He turned to look at Hermione and her partner's potion to see that it wasn't exactly going according to plan either. This did not go unnoticed by Harry's partner who nudged him to look at their own potion which had turned silver and was giving off a brilliant aroma.

"I guess you were right. Look at Granger's face! She can't believe she's not getting it right." The smile on his face was threatening to tear it apart.

"So she's some sort of genius, too?"

"Genius, Peverell, is a strong word. She's good, I admit. I dunno about the genius part."

Whatever she was, Harry was certain of one thing: she was unhappy. Her potion had turned the grey it was supposed to but instead of changing further to silver or golden, it had begun to give off red smoke.

"Add a clockwise stir after every fourth counter-clockwise one, Black."

"Whatever."

"Don't you mean 'whatever you say'?" remarked Harry.

"No, I meant 'whatever'."

"Right, look it's turning golden," Harry said.

The class had ten minutes left when the professor finally got up and announced that he was going to have a look at everyone's potion. This resulted in many people quickly adding extra ingredients into their concoctions, making their potion worse. It was obvious that the man wasn't impressed by the class' performance. It was dismal, to be honest. He even sighed when he looked at Granger's cauldron as if he had expected better from her. All he had to say to each pair was something like 'what in the world is that' or 'you can do better' and then he would move on. At least he wasn't like Snape and throwing away derogatory remarks, Harry thought. Finally, he came to Harry and Castor Black. Runcorn's eyes lit up and he clapped his hands together.

"Now this is more like it! Look at this, class. Silver already. It's almost perfect!" He remarked delightfully.

Several students came over to catch a glimpse of the potion, which suddenly changed colour again. The professor was right over the cauldron, taking in the smell of the potion, all dignity forgotten.

"Golden! Perfect!" he smiled. "Well done, Peverell. We'll make a Potions Master out of you yet."

"What about me?" Castor whined.

"Come now, Black. You expect me to believe that you did this? Please. Fifty points to Slytherin for a perfect NEWT level potion. It's not something you see everyday, especially not in the year's first class."

"You wound me, Professor." That was all that Harry's partner managed.

Several Gryffindors were crowded around the cauldron, getting giddy just by its smell. The only Slytherin among them was Rookwood, whose face was twitching. Harry smirked at the boy's attempts to keep his dignity intact and not fall under the spell of the scent.

"ARGH!"

Everyone turned around to see that two Gryffindor students were staring wide-eyed at their cauldron - or what remained of it. Their faces were covered in soot and the potion had spilled onto the floor. The cauldron had been eaten away by the potion which was no spreading towards the desks. Harry realised that it was the same pair which he had noticed earlier arguing about some wrong ingredient.

The professor's look of joy was replaced by alarm and indignation. In an instant he had his wand out and he pointed it at the spill.

"Evanesco." The potion vanished. "What were you thinking? Class is dismissed. You two stay here, I want a word."

Then he turned to Harry and spoke in a hushed voice, "I'll be keeping this concoction of yours, if you don't mind. My supply has run out anyway."

"It's alright, Professor."

The students hurriedly left the classroom and Runcorn signaled the two students to follow him into his office at the back of the class room. Castor slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Well, that escalated quickly," he deadpanned.

"Yeah, sure. You go ahead, I'll come."

The shaggy-haired boy nodded and left. Once he was out, Harry went over to the supplies cupboard and took out a small glass vial. He scooped some of his potion into it and tucked it away safely in the inner pocket of his robes. _You never know when you might need it, _he mused, recalling the time when he had given some to Slughorn to get him to divulge the memory of young Tom Riddle.

The second floor corridor was full of students heading off in different directions for class. Harry checked the time. He still had five minutes till ten. Defence Against the Dark Arts. He couldn't wait for that. This dimension or that, defence was defence. He spotted Castor Black a few steps ahead of him and pushed several younger students out of his way to get to him.

"So what do we have next " Black asked.

"Defence," Harry replied.

"Right, that'll be in Room 3C on the third floor. Come on."

"Hey, I was thinking."

"From what I've seen of you, you tend to do that," the other boy spoke.

"Yeah, yeah." Harry lowered his voice to a whisper, "Why do they still teach Defence here? Isn't _he_ all about the Dark Arts?"

Castor frowned. "He is, but Dumbledore isn't. The Dark Lord doesn't decide the course. At least not here. From what I've heard, they teach the Dark Arts at Durmstrang and Beauxbatons."

"Beauxbatons?"

"That's the French one out of the big three schools of Europe."

"I know that. It's just weird thinking of them as Dark Arts students. I, er, heard they were a bunch of stuck-up snobs."

"They were. They still are, too. That's sort of a qualification that most pure-bloods have," Black noted. "Here we are."

The classroom was the same one in which Harry had had his previous DADA classes, apart from the ones in his first year when this corridor was out of bounds. It was a large room, more like a small hall. Hanging from the ceiling was a large chandelier, along with a Dragon's skeleton. A projector stood in one end of the classroom. This class was shared with the Ravenclaws, Harry noticed, noticing that most of the students in the class were wearing blue ties. Few Slytherins opted for Defence. With a look of surprise, Harry noticed that, surprisingly, Hermione Granger was among them, sitting at the front of the class with Rookwood's son, looking bored.

Harry took his place at the back of the room with his 'acquaintance' (not 'friend'). Before he sat down, he noticed Granger throw him a look of revulsion. Harry smiled at her and waved. That worked. With a frown, the girl turned away and began to talk to her partner. Harry heard the 10 am bell ring. Not a second had passed that the teacher walked in.

Helena Klein was a fairly tall, pale witch with wide blue eyes, reminiscent of one Luna Lovegood. Her square-jawed face was framed by brown locks. She was biting her thin lips. Harry presumed that it was a habit of hers since he had noticed her doing exactly that at the feast.

"Good morning, Professor Klein!" said the students in unison.

"Morning, class. Please take your seats. Mr. Peverell, I see you're joining us from today. Are you sure you'll manage?"

Harry simply nodded, having been asked the same question by the Potions professor.

"Perfect. Well, class, I see that you're sitting in exactly the same order as last year. You must think it's wonderful! I don't think so. Get up."

Groans of displeasure and protests were heard from all the students, but the teacher refused to listen to them. She signaled them to stand next to the walls and only to sit when she called out their names from her register, which she would be doing in random order.

"Let's see, Jenna Warwick and Patrick Bones. Then there's Castor Black and Everard Rookwood. And..."

Harry listened to her drone on and on while waiting for his turn. Rookwood didn't look pleased at being made to sit with Castor, who was looking equally irked. There was no real pattern. Some Ravenclaws ended up with Slytherins and some Slytherins, like Castor and Rookwood, ended up with other Slytherins. One pair of Ravenclaws was again made to sit together which made them pretty happy. Unfortunately for them, this did not go unnoticed by the professor, who split them up once again.

"Harry Peverell and Hermione Granger."

Harry coughed loudly. The teacher looked up and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Any problem, Mr. Peverell?"

"Er, no ma'am."

"Good, please take your seat."

Harry shrugged and dragged his bag to the front seat in the middle row. His new partner looked scandalised. Nevertheless, there was nothing she could do about it and she stiffly took her seat beside him. Harry flashed her a blinding smile.

"Hermione, imagine meeting you here," said he, extending a hand.

She looked at his hand and then at his face as if she couldn't believe what he was doing, and then narrowed her eyes.

"Spare me the pleasantries, halfblood."

"I prefer Harry, to be honest," Harry continued talking. "I wonder how you went through six years here with an attitude like that. What if the teacher heard you call me something like that."

"That isn't any of your business," she said in a soft voice, flicking a strand of hair out of her eyes.

"Meh, whatever."

The teacher was done with the new seating arrangements and announced, "This is the arrangement that you'll be following for the whole term, so make it work. I will not tolerate any petty interhouse squabbles here, am I understood? Good. Let's get on with it then. We concentrated on nonverbal spells last year. Those were, to be honest, fairly basic spells. We get to serious part this year. The Three, Dementors, Inferi and the likes."

There were murmurs of excitement. _The Three? S__o they haven't covered the Unforgivables till now?_ The spells weren't exactly unforgivable ever since Voldemort had come to power. Of course, they're use was regulated and you were punishable if you used them on a fellow wizard, but you weren't imprisoned for life. _Guess Voldemort isn't the complete bastard he was back there._

"Seeing as this is a double lesson, we'll divide it into two parts. Take some time to get to know your partners. Maybe you'll learn that you're not all that different." _Maybe. "_Then we'll start something."

She waved her wand and sheets of paper appeared in front of every student with the name of their partner on it, along with several 'questions', like what their favourite colour was, etc.

"What in the world are these? Why do I care what your favourite food colour or food is?" Harry inquired.

"I'm not exactly happy either, as you can see. So let's get this over with quickly," sighed Granger, taking out her quill and ink pot.

"We do have something in common!" Harry exclaimed.

Irritated, his partner spoke sharply, "You know that's not what I meant."

"Am I annoying you?" The corners of Harry's lips were beginning to twitch.

"I don't like you, Peverell, and the feeling's mutual, if that's what you mean by that."

"Relax. Let's see," he had a look at the questions. "What's your favourite colour, Hermione?"

"Don't call me that."

"Come on. How about Herms or Ninny?"

"Do you have a death wish, Peverell?" she said coolly.

"Not at all."

"In that case, watch it."

"Right. Answer the question, Hermione."

This time she didn't even bother 'correcting' him, considering it best not to encourage the boy. "Silver, if you must know."

"I see. I prefer black, to be honest."

"I feel closer to you already," Hermione blankly stated.

"Your turn. Ask away."

"Get done with this quickly so I can go wash myself. What's your favourite dish? Roasted turkey for me."

"Treacle tart. Definitely treacle tart. Favourite subject?"

"Transfiguration," she stated tersely.

"This class."

"Tell me, Peverell, why weren't you sorted into Gryffindor? Don't try that 'the hat put me here' tripe."

"So just because I like Defence, I'm supposed to be in Gryffindor? Look who else is taking it," Harry argued.

"I'm just in it to get to know the other side of magic. Contrary to what you seem to believe, Slytherins aren't all about Dark Magic. Everything has its uses."

"I like defending myself, alright? You never know what you'll be up against?"

"Pfft. You think someone will come after you? You're nobody. What can you do?"

"Maybe I am. That isn't what you thought in Potions, is it? I could see it on your face. Outdone by a mere half-blood," Harry said, rubbing his Potions success into her face.

"Glad to see you're acknowledging your place. And yes, what did you do in there? We followed the recipe to the smallest detail."

"Are you jealous?"

"No," she said through pursed lips. "Think of it as a learning opportunity."

"Fine. I did the opposite of what you did."

She gave him a puzzled look.

Harry explained, "I altered the recipe."

"You what?" her eyes widened. "You could have ended up killing us if you messed up."

"IF I messed up, which I knew I wouldn't."

"That's outrageous."

"Whatever. Black didn't seem to mind."

"Yes, you two were talking quite amicably. I knew he wasn't right."

"What's wrong in being a little open-minded, Hermione?"

"Don't say that," she snapped. "Just - just get on with the questions. What's your date of birth? September 19th."

"July 31st. What's your favourite animal? Dragons! No, make that phoenixes!"

"Phoenixes? How...nice," Hermione spoke softly. "I don't like animals a lot. From what I've heard, Thestrals don't seem bad."

Before he could stop himself, Harry blurted out, "They aren't. They just don't look good."

He slapped his forehead at that. Meanwhile, Hermione finally seemed to appear interested in the conversation, bending forward with an eerie glint in her eye.

"You've seen them?"

Harry couldn't exactly say that he had seen pictures. He had no choice. "Yeah, the ones that pull the carriages here."

"Who did you see die?" she asked smoothly.

"My parents..."

For a second, Hermione was silent. Then she spoke the next question, "What's your deepest desire?"

"Revenge," Harry stated in a succinct manner.

"You know what, Peverell? You're the strangest person I've met here. I can see that you're hiding something. Maybe you do have a little Slytherin in you. Just a little."

"There's a little Slytherin in all of us."

"Please," she commented sardonically.

"What about you? Answer the question!"

"Power," she said in a way that reminded Harry of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Er, right. So-"

He was interrupted by Professor Klein who walked to the front of the class. "Okay, we're done with this. Please put those papers away."

A stout Ravenclaw boy spoke up, "But, Professor, we aren't done yet."

"Oh, please," the woman voiced. "Those questions were just to get you to talk. Do whatever you want with them."

_How clever of you,_ Harry mused.

"Alright. We're starting with 'The Three', formerly known as the Unforgivable Curses. Who can name them?"

Several hands went up in the class. The professor turned to the boy who had told her that he wasn't done yet.

"Yes, Mr Bracken?"

"The Cruciatus Curse."

"Yes. The Torture Curse, The Cruciatus Curse or Crucio. Pain so terrible that victims have been known to go insane if kept under it for extended periods of time. Not pleasant, not at all. Accio!"

She waved her wand to summon a jar towards her, a jar which contained a spider.

"I will demonstrate the spell on this spider now. Please, Miss Bones, don't whimper. Spiders are regularly used as test subjects in this class."

Harry turned to see if the girl was the same Susan Bones he remembered. To make a short story shorter, it was. At least, it was another version of her because she couldn't be the same. This Susan Bones was in Ravenclaw, not Hufflepuff.

"Engorgio." The spider became bigger. "Crucio!"

The spider began to shake uncontrollably, flailing its eight legs wildly and letting out a shrill sound. Unlike what Moody had done, Klein didn't use the spell for long and as soon as she saw that her point was made, she cancelled the spell and looked at the stunned class. Harry recalled the pain he had seen in Neville's eyes when Moody performed it. This time he didn't see any such thing. Instead, he saw that one or two people were actually smiling at the spider. Next to him, Hermione's face was emotionless.

"So," the professor continued. "Who can tell me another one? Yes, Mr. Black?"

"The Imperius Curse," Castor answered.

"The Imperius Curse or Imperio is used to bind the victim to the owner's will, as long as the caster's will is stronger than the victim's. This means that the curse can be fought. We'll be covering that, too."

Students sat up eagerly in their seats at the prospect of fighting one of The Three. The professor pointed her wand at the spider which was still lying on its back, looking like it was panting.

"Imperio," she muttered.

The spider rose up on its legs and began to scutter around. It began to climb up a girl's leg. She stood up, shaking it off. The professor directed it to the head of another student and then made it return to her hand.

"As you can see, the spider was obviously very tired. Yet, it obeyed me because it was being forced to do something. The curse can make you do something that you might not be able to perform in your normal state. Total control. So who can give me the final one?"

There were no hands raised. _Voldemort or not, some things never change_. The third curse still seemed to be taboo. Even his partner was suddenly interested in her fingernails. When the class was silent for a few moments, Harry decided that it was up to him to say it.

"Avada Kedavra."

The professor nodded. "At least someone here has the nerve to say it. The Killing Curse is the third and most dangerous of the three, and unless you don't fear death, the most dangerous of all curses. There is no way to counter it. You can dodge it or reflect put something solid between you and the spell to protect yourself, but no spell will counter it. Some specialists do believe that it might be possible to block it by sending another Avada Kedavra right back at it so that the two cancel each other out, but that has never been tried due to obvious reasons. People don't fancy dying just because their guess was wrong."

She pointed her wand at the spider one last time, "Avada Kedavra!"

A jet of green light shot out of the end of her wand, instantly killing the spider. Harry could not help but feel sorry for the creature. It hadn't done anything wrong. Of course, Ron would beg to differ, saying that it was its mistake that it was born a spider. There was no use pondering over it. No one said a word.

"Professor?" Susan Bones raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Bones?"

"Has anyone ever survived the curse?"

"Never."

The bell rang right on cue.

* * *

_There you go. I'll be taking a break because I have exams. As always, reviews are welcome._


	5. Making An Impression

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

* * *

12:00, September 3, found Harry heading to his Transfiguration class. Yesterday had been nothing but introductions and he had yet to perform any magic with the Elder Wand. He had been here for several days but hadn't bothered trying to use it, mainly because for the first two weeks his magical core was severely depleted and any attempt at magic would have sent him back to the hospital wing. Care is better than cure, as they say.

Professor McGonagall was already in the classroom when he arrived, looking as severe as ever. With a hasty greeting, Harry sat down on his seat. Unlike rest of the teachers, McGonagall preferred to have her students work alone, rather in pairs or groups. Therefore, every desk was separate from the others, something that Harry preferred as it meant that he didn't need to deal with the others. Speaking of 'the others', their attitude towards him hadn't changed much. They had opted for a passive approach, choosing to ignore him instead of throwing insults his way. Harry liked it that way.

Castor Black, though, had developed a 'friendly acquaintanceship' with the boy. Black wasn't the most popular person in the house even if he was treated better than Harry. He had even sat beside him at breakfast today. _Mmm, breakfast._ Harry licked his lips. _What am I thinking? That's was Ron's supposed to do__! _He brought himself back to earth, putting aside any thoughts of sausages and eggs, because Professor McGonagall had stood up once the Slytherins and Gryffindors had arrived. The class quieted down, not that there had been much noise to begin with.

"Good afternoon, class," she declared. "We started with trans-species transfiguration. As I mentioned before, it is similar to 'switching', which is the transfiguration of a particular part on a creature's body. Despite this similarity, you will find that this is much harder than that. You are not just replacing a certain part, you are altering the very nature of the organism you target. A dog with a rat's tail is still a dog. But what you need to do now is change the dog into a mouse or vice versa. It is similar to 'Fera Verto', where you change an animal into a water goblet, but a water goblet is not alive. This forms the basis of Animagus transformations. Are we clear?"

"Yes, professor," the class spoke together.

Satisfied, the aging woman went over to a cupboard and pulled out a cage. A cage, Harry saw, full of mice, some white and some brown. A few students twisted their faces in disgust. One Gryffindor girl let out a soft whimper. When Harry turned to look at her, she blushed and mumbled something about not liking mice. Shaking his head, Harry turned his attention back to the professor, who had begun to hand out a mouse to every student, giving each of them a strict warning not to toy with it. As she placed them on each table, she doled out instructions.

"You must imagine the mouse as a dog. Form a picture in your head of it morphing into one. Every feature of the dog must be clear as crystal in your mind's eye. Take some time to think about what you are going to do and after I demonstrate it once, you may get to work."

Harry stared at his little white mouse. How could this little critter be a dog? Maybe a little puppy. A really diminutive puppy. That might work. Closing his eyes, he tried to paint a picture in the canvas of his mind. He thought of how the mouse would transform. He saw the the rodent's tail grow thicker and longer, saw its eyes grow larger, its whole body grow heavier, its skin turn black. This wasn't a puppy. It was the Grim, a large, black, spectral hound, eerily reminiscent of Sirius Black's animagus form. Shaking thoughts of his dead godfather out of his head, Harry looked around to see how everyone else was progressing.

Most of the class had its eyes closed and the students were murmuring to themselves under their breath. McGonagall was done handing out the mice and returned to her position at the front of the class, holding a brown mouse in her left hand and her wand in the other. She cleared her throat to direct everyone's attention to her.

"Now that you have imagined what you want to happen- Mr Black, if you pull your mouse's tail once again, it will be a month of detention for you. As I was saying, we get to the real work now. You must tap the animal thrice and say 'Fera Vertum', all the while thinking of the form you want it to assume. For example."

She put down her mouse. Once she was sure that it wasn't going to flee, she tapped it with her wand.

"Fera Vertum."

There was a flare of white light and instead of a rat, a fully grown Golden Retriever stood at Professor McGonagall's feet, observing the class while holding its head up high. As usual, there were proclamations of delight.

"That was wicked, Professor!" exclaimed a Gryffindor whom Harry recognised as Seamus Finnegan.

"Thank you, Mr. Finnegan. Now to change it back. Fera Vertum," said the professor.

The dog changed back into the small rodent in a flash of light. It happened in the blink of an eye, so it wasn't possible to actually see the animal change into another one. One moment you had a dog, and then you were stuck with a mouse. The class got started on their work, cries of 'Fera Vertum' coming from everywhere around Harry, who was seated in the middle of the classroom.

_Finally,_ Harry smiled. He drew his wand from his pocket, a feeling of warmth running through him when he touched it. He could feel his magic coursing through the wand. It wasn't just him who was eager to try out some magic after all this time - the wand was aching to be used, too. He tapped the mouse thrice and cast the spell.

"Fera Vertum!"

Nothing happened. _That was anticlimatic. Work, dammit! _He tapped the mouse again and again, all the while repeating the incantation, but nothing was happening. Around him, everyone was struggling. A Slytherin girl had mixed up the spell with 'Fera Verto' and transformed her mouse into a water goblet. Castor was practically caning the mouse with his wand, looking frustrated. To Harry's delight, Hermione was looking frustrated as well. Harry was staring at his wand, worried why it wasn't working when he heard exclamations of surprise. He looked up and saw that Granger had managed to transform her mouse into a newborn dog, bald and small, but a dog nonetheless.

"Well done, Miss Granger," McGonagall told a satisfied Hermione. "Not the most perfect of transfigurations, but impressive nonetheless, considering it is NEWT level. Fera Vertum. *The dog changed back into a mouse* Try to improve it. Look at you people. Whoever doesn't manage at least a small change will have to write a one-foot essay on what went wrong.*

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry saw Granger throw him a smirk, knowing that he was watching her. Riled, Harry began to tap his animal faster, holding it by its tail to stop it from running away. Then it struck him. He hadn't been paying attention! Too excited about doing magic again, he had forgot to let the image of the dog be the only thing in his mind. _Visualise, Harry_. _Visualise a little puppy. Yes, that's it. Soft and furry and small._ As he tapped the animal, the image of the puppy was pushed aside and replaced by the familiar Grim. Halfway into the incantation, Harry tried to alter it-

"Fera Vertum!"

A blinding flash of light shot out of the end of the Elder Wand, causing everyone to turn their heads towards it. A girl screamed.

The wolf howled, its black coat glittering in the light of the torches of the classroom. Harry jumped out of his chair, flabbergasted. The professor was looking at the animal with a mixture of horror and amazement. Students were backing up against the wall. The wolf leapt from the desk onto the floor and looked around, its eyes narrowed. _Probably looking who to take revenge on for years of having its tailed pulled by annoying students_, Harry thought. In an attempt to fix this, Harry did what came to his mind first.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The effect was instant. The wolf's limbs snapped together and it keeled over, petrified. McGonagall, who had her wand out, came over and transfigured it back into a small mouse and picked it up. Whispers broke out in the class. Over the professor's shoulder, Harry saw Castor shoot him a wide smile and a thumbs-up.

"May I ask what just happened, Peverell?" the professor questioned him, peering at him over her glasses, reminding Harry of Dumbledore.

He explained, "I, er, I lost the image I had in my mind halfway through the spell and I replaced it with whatever came to my mind first."

"And why is it that you thought of a wolf?"

Knowing that he couldn't very say that he had been thinking of the Grim, his brain set into overdrive, picking out a name from within Harry's old memories.

"I'd been thinking of the Warrington Wolves," he said, trying his best to look embarrassed. "They're a rugby team."

McGonagall looked appalled that her student would be thinking of a sports team in her class, "Very well. I would advise you to pay more attention to your spells if you want to pass. Other than that, *her lips curved into the smallest of smiles* that was a magnificent piece of transfiguration. Even if it was by accident, your effort has gained Slytherin house thirty points."

Harry couldn't believe it. She had bought it! He felt like jumping up and down, having thought previously that he was going to be severely reprimanded. The Wolves were some team that Dudley and his gang used to talk about a lot. Harry didn't even know what league they played in. He wasn't the only one who was dumbfounded - everyone was staring at Harry, McGonagall and the mouse.

"Close your mouth, Peverell. And everyone else, get back to work."

* * *

"That. Was. Brilliant," declared Castor, once the class was over and they were out.

Many other people seemed to share his opinion as several people were casting envious glances at him. Harry, who was distracted as he thought of the surge of power through him when he cast the spell, nodded absently. _The Wand of Destiny. The Deathstick. The unbeatable wand. His wand._

"First Potions and then this. At the rate you're going, we'll win the House Cup in no time," Castor was saying when Hermione passed them by. "Hey, Granger. Did you see that?"

She turned around, staring at the two without any expression of vexation. "You heard him, Black. Accidents happen. I'd like to see him do that again."

Having heard this, Harry came back to Earth, and winked at her. "You'd like to see me do a lot of things, Granger, won't you?"

"What are you insinuating?"

"Oh, nothing..."

"If that's all, then I'll be on my way," the girl said before she turned on her heels and marched away.

Castor turned to Harry and said, "Trust me, she was pissed off."

"I can see that."

"You tend to do that to her, you know," the other boy pointed out. "You get to her like no one else, except maybe Rookwood."

"She doesn't seem annoyed by him."

Castor coughed, but Harry heard something like 'pureblood'. _Of course._

"What do we have now?" Harry inquired.

"Let's see," said Castor, eying his timetable. "Nothing. We're free, I tell you. Free!"

"In that case, I have something I need to do."

As Harry turned around, the other boy called after him, "Now where might you be off to?"

"The library," Harry lied.

Castor's face contorted in disgust, "You go ahead."

With that, he stalked away. Harry had learnt that Castor was not the bookish type and if he wanted to get away from him, he could just say that he was off to the library, seeing as the boy wouldn't be found dead anywhere near it. In reality (or alternate reality, as the case may be), Harry was off to see a wizard. The Headmaster, to be specific. There had been some things that were bothering him and he wanted answers.

Harry came up to the dreaded gargoyle. He did not know the password though.

"Er, lemon drop?" Harry asked.

"You're a few years late, kid. Try again," the gargoyle taunted.

Harry saw red. He had never liked that stupid sculpture because of its tendency to ridicule students who came to see the headmaster without any knowledge of the password. Seeing it blown up was one of the few good things that he recalled of the 'Battle of Hogwarts' as he had named it.

"Cockroach cluster, Mars Bars, sherbet lemon, gobstoppers, candy canes! Jesus Christ!" Harry cried out, tugging at his hair.

To his surprise, the gargoyle jumped aside, revealing the passageway.

"Jesus Christ? Seriously?" Harry asked, dumbfounded.

"Candy canes, bub. Hurry up," the gargoyle spoke in an annoyed tone.

Not stopping to argue, the boy headed by the staircase, not even caring that it was already revolving and knocked on the door. A faint voice inside called him inside. Harry entered to find the old wizard reading a heavy book. When he saw Harry enter, he put aside the text and signaled him to take a seat opposite himself.

"Good afternoon, Professor," greeted Harry.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Peverell. I see you made it past the gargoyle. Are my passwords really that predictable?" he smiled, his eyes twinkling.

"Er, no. I was just lucky, I guess," replied the boy, hastily.

"Is there something you want to discuss with me? You look out of breath."

"Actually, yes, there is. And I jogged all the way here so that no one followed me."

"I see," the wizard nodded. "How has school been treating you? Professor Runcorn was delighted by your Elixir. He couldn't stop talking about it at last night's meeting."

"Oh...er, it was nothing."

"So what is it that you wanted to see me about?"

"It's just that I don't understand how so much stuff is different, but there are several similarities, too. Shouldn't this be like a reverse world?" Harry voiced his question.

"I can understand your concerns. In fact, that was bothering me too when you told me that the other me was your headmaster, too, and Minerva, a teacher of yours.", Dumbldedore began explaining. "With a little research, I think I have been able to take a slightly-educated guess. Think of it this way. If I toss a coin, I get heads. At the same time, another me as gotten tails. That could cause the universe to split into separate imagine someone from your life who's taken a different path from the one you remember them taking. There could be any reason for this happening. You could board one of those muggle aeroplanes and be killed. If you had missed it, you would have survived, splitting the universe again. Now in both those universes, there is another person who is waiting to board another aeroplane and the same scenarios repeat themselves, creating an endless number of parallel universes or dimensions. Are you following me?"

Harry, although a little taken aback by the explanation, nodded.

Dumbledore continued, "So you can very well imagine that it is entirely possible that due to the sheer number of choices in our life, we have an uncountable number of parallel universes, running side by side but never meeting, except for the occasional oddity like you. The dimension we live in may very well be the result of someone choosing a different path, and then another person in the new dimension choosing a different path, another in the newer dimension choosing the same path and so on. James and Lily Potter could or could not have gone dark and could or could not have had a son. We are in the dimension where they went dark and did not have a son. It can get really confusing, and it is but an idea. There is no proof of it that I know of."

After a few minutes of silence, the younger wizard said, "That's amazing, isn't it, Professor? And scary, too. To think that you're alive in one place, dead in another, never born in another, 'good' in one, 'dark' in another."

"Indeed it is, dear boy. Best not to dwell on it any longer than is necessary."

"I guess... So, Professor, wouldn't that mean that it's possible that Voldemort doesn't have six Horcruxes in this world? He could have five or four or three or none," Harry reasoned.

"That is plausible, I will have to think about it. Thank you for bringing it to my attention, Mr. Peverell. But I would advise you to pay attention to your N.E.W.T.S. There is no burden of any prophecy on you here. I don't think I will be able to forgive myself for saying this, but there is a possibility that we may not be able to overthrow Voldemort. His control is strong and any organised opposition is very unlikely to emerge for now."

In an attempt to diffuse the tension that hung in the air, Harry said, "So Voldemort may or may not be defeated, resulting in two more dimensions."

Dumbledore sighed, "Possibly. Is there anything else that is bothering you? How is it with the Slytherins?"

"Oh, we're okay," Harry spoke. "We have our differences, especially Hermione and I. But Castor Black appears to be pretty good."

"Ah, Miss Granger. The Grangers are an ancient pureblood family and are aligned with Voldemort, along with the Blacks and most other pureblood houses. You will, no doubt, have some problems there. Regulus Black's son is an exception. His father and uncle were certainly the rebellious type. Many times have I thought that they distanced themselves from their own families just to spite them."

"He told me that Hermione's parents are high in the Ministry."

"You must understand that having a high ranking is not a mere question of possessing a respectable post, Mr. Peverell. The Ministry is essentially run by the purebloods due to their wealth and influence. The Grangers, although not being official Ministry workers, do hold considerable political power."

"I get it," Harry proclaimed. "Something really big must have happened way back in the past to turn the Grangers into purebloods or muggles. Hermione was a muggle-born witch when I knew her."

"You should take care not to mention what someone was in your own world, Harry. Do not think of them in that way anymore. You may think it is rather harsh of me, but it is for the best. As for the blood problem, that can be attributed to the fact that our understanding of parallel dimensions is not flawless. It might have to do with a Granger marrying a female pureblood in the past in this world," Dumbledore explained.

The mention of marriage to a pureblood caused Harry to recall another question that had been pestering him ever since he had found out that he was a half-blood even though his mother was a witch. "Professor, what exactly is a pureblood? Seeing as I'm a half-blood, does that mean that any, um, descendants of mine will always be halfbloods?"

"An intelligent question. Blood purity has no fixed rules. You are a pureblood if no one can remember a muggle or a muggle-born in your family tree. Even one of them can cause their status to change to half-blood."

"But half-blood is technically incorrect. You can be three-quarters blood and quarter-blood and what not."

Dumbledore frowned. "But that wouldn't be easy to remember now, would it? Wizards do not pay much attention to semantics. Is there anything you would like to add?"

"No, Professor. Thank you for your time," Harry expressed his gratitude.

"Anytime, my boy, anytime. Now you best be off. I must finish reading this Muggle storybook," the old man pointed towards the book he had been reading earlier. "Gandalf does remind me of myself."

* * *

Harry returned to the Slytherin Common Room, rerunning his conversation with the headmaster in his head. The Granger family was turning out to be very much like the Malfoys and the Blacks that Harry remembered. He could not help but think that most wizards were total dunderheads if they accepted based purity of blood on something that you couldn't recollect.

As for the idea of parallel universes, Harry understood that if Dumbledore was correct, it was almost certain that he would never be able to return to his world. While Harry could not possibly have been the only interdimensional traveler ever, the chance of his crossing into another dimension once again was almost nonexistent. Even if he managed to do it, there was no guarantee that he would return to the correct one. _So I'm stuck here. This is my world now. This. _He realised that he would need to distance himself from any thoughts of returning and forge a new life here and it would only be easier if he accepted that he belonged to this world now.

The Common Room was strangely vacant, apart from a sixth-year girl and a fourth-year boy who were staring at Harry with flushed cheeks. _Oh, great. A kissy kissy couple._

"I didn't see anything," Harry told them, rolling his eyes. "IF you tell me where everyone's off to. "

"It's lunchtime, Peverell!" the girl exclaimed. "Why aren't you there?"

Harry checked the time. Almost two. _Oops._

"My bad. I'll be off. You're secret's safe with me."

With that, Harry turned around on his heels and hurried off to lunch, his stomach rumbling once it heard that it was lunchtime. He rushed to make it to the hall before two, finding the huge room full of students. Lunch was a casual affair at Hogwarts. You would find students going through newspapers, students sleeping with their heads down, students sitting at tables other than their house tables (except for the Slytherins) and no teacher seemed to mind. Harry grabbed himself two sandwiches and gulped down a glass of ice-cold pumpkin juice before he was off again. He wanted to get out. He wanted to see the grounds once again.

The feel of the wind blowing on his face as he stepped outside evoked fond memories of Quidditch and his beloved broom, the Firebolt. His eyes soaked in the greenery. It was then that Harry noticed the absence of the Whomping Willow. _So either Remus never attended Hogwarts or he wasn't a werewolf._ He wasn't the only student outside. Several pupils from every house were lying on the ground in small clusters. When Harry came close to the Stone Circle where Hermione had punched Draco Malfoy, he observed a commotion. Several students were gathered in a circle, preventing Harry from seeing whatever was going on. Curious, he made his way down to the students, making his way between them by pushing two of them aside.

"You leave the kid alone, Smith!" Castor, with his wand in his hand, warned a red-haired boy with a pointy nose and a red and gold tie. _Gryffindor. _"He didn't do anything on purpose."

Harry's acquaintance was facing off against the redhead boy, both of them gripping their wands firmly. Behind Castor was a short First Year Hufflepuff looking at the Gryffindor with fear in his eyes. By eavesdropping on a conversation between two of the students gathered around, Harry was able to understand what was going on. Apparently, the Hufflepuff boy had been running around while playing with his classmates when he ran into the Gryffindor, knocking both of them down. Feeling his 'pride' had been hurt, the Gryffindor had decided to have 'fun' with the little boy and had levitated him around the Stone Circle. Seeing as no Prefect was close by, no one stepped forward to stop the boy as he was supposedly a good duelist in the sixth year. But then Castor came along and got into an argument with the Gryffindor.

"Come on, Black," Smith called. "I don't have any issue with you. Step aside. We were just having some fun."

Harry stepped in. "Fun? Levitating a boy who's been here for what, two or three days? I thought Gryffindor was the house of the noble," he jeered.

Smith turned around and furrowed his eyebrows. "If it isn't the new transfer. Enjoying it here? Dwayne Smith's the name."

"Don't change the topic, Smith," Castor said in a raised voice. "You did something like this last year but we ignored you. Not this time."

"What would two Slytherins such as yourself know about being noble?"

"More than you ever will," said Harry coolly.

Smith was irked. "Watch it, new guy, or else."

"Or else what? Gonna make me circle the Circle? Please," Harry smirked.

He looked at Castor, silently instructing him to take the boy away. He would deal with this. Obeying, Castor pulled the boy away from the crowd of students which had grown slightly. Seeing them leave, the impudent Gryffindor with the huge ego stepped forward to follow but found Harry blocking him.

"And where might you be off to?" Harry questioned. "Are you really so egotistical to consider an accident a blow to your pride?"

"Hey, the newbies have to learn respect, right? Now move aside," warned the other boy.

"Or else what?" Harry raised an eyebrow, mocking him.

As soon as Harry did this, the students gathered around jumped back as Smith jumped back, too, his wand pointing at Harry.

The boy shouted as his wand glowed red, "Or else this-"

Before he could even name a spell, Harry had his own wand out and he spoke in a threatening whisper, "Or what, Smith? What WILL you do? I can't wait to know. Just give me an excuse to attack you. People like you, people who find pleasure in the humiliation of others, they're nothing but trash who overestimate their own importance."

The altercation had evoked memories of his own father and his father's friends humiliating Severus Snape because he was "a slimy git". He recalled the bitterness that he had felt towards them at that time, feeling it renewed after this encounter. Snape may have been a slimy git later in life, but he might never have turned out like that towards Harry if James Potter hadn't been such a big-headed numskull for most of his school years. Harry turned around, pushing the same students as before aside to make his way out of the circle.

A crack of a twig.

Harry tightened his grip on his wand.

He turned around.

He saw a jet of scarlet light rushing towards him.

He raised his wand.

"Protego!"

Within the split second after Harry had heard Smith step forward to attack him, Harry had erected a shield between them. The Stunning Spell ricocheted off the shield and returned towards its caster who had to leap aside to dodge it. Satisfied with the look of indignation on the Gryffindor's face, Harry made for the castle amidst whoops of admiration. Harry himself knew that the Shield Charm had been particularly strong, even by his standards, due to the Elder Wand's power.

Near the entrance, he found Hermione Granger staring at him with her nose in the air.

"I saw what you did there," she stated matter-of-factly. "Very noble of you."

"I know. I saw it, too," Harry said.

"How very droll. That shield was charm was pretty strong. And then the way you reacted, you seem to be an experienced duelist."

"Get to the point," Harry voiced. "I'm heading to the Common Room."

"There isn't any point. I'm just keeping an eye on you."

"Glad to see you care about me."

Horrified at this, she hastily explained, "Don't flatter yourself. Just making sure that you don't do anything that'll harm our house's reputation. That was a Hufflepuff you two protected down there."

"Yes. It doesn't matter what house you're in. Bullying is bullying and bullies are to be taught a lesson. Unmonitored, they'll only worsen."

Shaking her head, Hermione said, "Oh, Klein says be prepared for today's lesson. She's going to be putting us under the Imperius Curse. Spread the word."

"Right, Hermione!"

And he left her seething.

The Common Room was full of Seventh Years and a few junior students when Harry entered. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the boy he had caught kissing earlier looking at him nervously. Harry cleared his throat. Everyone stopped talking and directed their attention towards the bespectacled boy. _Castor probably told them what happened. _He announced that Professor Klein would be casting the Imperius Curse on the Seventh Years in the three o' clock lesson and she wanted them to be prepared though she didn't mention how. Mentally prepared, maybe?

Excited whispers ran through the room and the topic of conversation changed to how they could attempt to fight the curse. Even the non-DADA and the junior students joined in the discussion. Castor, on the other hand, dragged Harry onto a sofa and began interrogating him about what happened down near the Stone Circle.

"I could have handled it myself! Why did you get in?" he asserted.

"Come on, I wasn't in there to help you. I just didn't like that boy's attitude," Harry clarified. "What's his problem?"

Castor's face contorted into an expression of abhorrence. "Some stupid half-blood."

"Hey! You say that as if its something bad!"

"Right, sorry. I meant it in a matter-of-fact way, like a black guy is black, a white guy is white, a brown guy is brown, an Asian is Asi-"

"Yes, yes, I get it." Harry interrupted.

"Yeah. Where was I?" he paused. "I know. He's just a kid with an inflated ego who thinks he's special just because he managed a few good O.W.L.S. Idiot. He placed third in the Fifth Year dueling competition last year. It helps when half of your opponents are sissy Hufflepuffs. Dumb luck."

"He tried to attack me with a Stunner behind my back."

"Wow," Castor expressed his amazement. "Cheap shot. What did you do?"

Harry waved it away, "Shield Charm. Gave him a warning."

"Well played. You could have gotten detention if you attacked him back and lost us points - points that you gained, points that I expect you to earn again today."

"Oh, really? How can you be so sure of that?" Harry inquired, curious.

"You don't look scared or anything. It's as if you don't even care about the fact that we're having the Imperius Curse cast on us. The Imperius Curse!"

"Look who's talking" was all Harry said.

Castor gave him a Sirius-like smile. "But then I wouldn't be me, would I? A cautious me. Ha!"

* * *

The clock struck three. The Ravenclaws and Slytherins were already all seated, eagerly awaiting for the professor's arrival. Once she entered, the noise in the class died down once everyone greeted her. No one, including the teacher, had brought anything except their wands along with them. The professor, apparently in a mood to get this over with quickly, signaled everyone to stand up.

"Okay, everyone," she spoke with the slightest hint of a German accent. "We need to clear some space in the center of the classroom. I'd make someone here do it under the Imperius Curse but that won't be fun now, would it? I expect you to do it without me forcing you to. Move your desks next to the walls. Quick!"

The screech of desks pushing against the floor filled the classroom, causing Harry to twist his face. Not liking it either, the professor ordered them to lift the desks and then move them. Once enough space had been cleared in the center, she told them to line up against the wall and began calling them forward in no particular order, similar to how she had made them sit in the first lesson. _Must have a thing for randomness._

"Mitchell Boot."

A tall, lanky Ravenclaw boy came forward, gritting his teeth. The next second he was singing the Weird Sisters' latest hit aloud. The class roared with laughter and once the boy gained control of his will, his cheeks grew red as strawberries. One by one, Harry saw his classmates fall under the influence of the Imperius Curse and bend to the professor's will. Rookwood was made to act like a monkey and Susan Bones was coerced into doing acting like a House Elf. Castor was forced to declare his undying love for potions and Professor Runcorn, causing Harry to snort. No one seemed able to fight the spell. Even Hermione Granger, whom he had expected to show some resistance, submitted to the professor's will and behaved like a farm girl, talking in a country accent and milking imaginary cows. Harry stored this image in his mind to use in times of depression. She looked humiliated once the curse was lifted.

"Harry Peverell. Quick, quick. Imperio!"

The feeling of weightlessness and bliss washed over Harry, blocking access to his thoughts for a moment before the familiar voice in his head began to speak, urging him to keep stay awake.

"What shall we make you do, Mr. Peverell?" the professor asked. "Alright, just perform a cartwheel."

This was nothing - nothing compared to what Harry had felt when Voldemort used the curse on him. His conscious' voice was drowning out the professor's command. He was in control.

"No," he stated concisely.

The smile on the professor's face was so large that Harry was astonished that it managed to fit onto her face. Contrasting with the teacher's expressions was the reaction of the class. Shock was evident on their faces and two or three even had their jaws hanging down. Castor raised his eyebrows as if telling him 'I told you so'. Not knowing what to do, Harry gave the class a nervous smile.

The professor finally spoke up, "Mr. Peverell. I don't know how you did it, but you did it. You beat the curse. On the first try, too! Take fifteen points for Slytherin. Would you mind telling the class what you did to fight it? Maybe this class wasn't a waste of time."

"Er, well, my mind went blank at first," Harry explained. "But then I heard a small whisper in my head that told me to stay awake. I felt my thoughts vanishing at first but when I concentrated on the voice, I felt in control of my thoughts once again. The voice grew louder. When you told me to perform a cartwheel, I heard you, but didn't pay attention because of the voice in my head. I think that's it."

"Right, aptly put." She turned her attention towards the class. "So, as you saw, the curse can be fought. Mr. Peverell here has just demonstrated wonderful control over his will, that is, his extraordinary willpower. The voice he heard could be called his conscience. It tells him what to do, not the caster. The voice growing louder tells us that either my will was too weak or his was too strong. You can train yourself to fight the curse, but there is no guarantee that you will be able to throw it off. Most wizards who can fight it can only do so to the extent of resisting the urge to act according to the command. It takes something special to break the spell and blatantly refuse. Now, who's next?"

* * *

Defence Against the Dark Arts ended at four and the student left classroom, mocking each other for what they had done under the influence of the curse. Castor Black was feigning disgust at what he had said about loving Potions and went to rinse his mouth as 'an act of purification'. Harry was the last one to leave because the professor had held him back once everyone was out to try the curse again. "Making sure that that wasn't a fluke," she had said. The result had been the same, Harry effortlessly throwing off the effect of the spell and earning praise from the teacher.

When he came out of the classroom, he found his way blocked by Hermione Granger who was still ticked off by what she had been forced to do during the class.

"Yes?" Harry asked, not in the mood to deal with her.

"How did you do that?" she questioned.

Feigning ignorance, Harry inquired, "Do what? I don't know what you're talking about. Now if you'll excuse me, I must return to the Common Room. I don't have any other classes today."

He slid past her to return to the dungeons. Surprisingly for him, she turned to follow him.

"I was on my way there, too," she stated. "Let's walk, Peverell."

Stunned, Harry narrowed his eyes but nodded. Harry noticed that even though she had decided to walk 'with' him, she kept her distance.

"Tell me," she demanded. "What was that in there?"

"What was what in where?"

Fuming, the girl explained, "The Imperius Curse. It had no effect on you! No one can throw it off, at least not completely. You heard what that woman said. How did you do that?"

"Magic," Harry put it succinctly.

"That explains everything, doesn't it? No, it doesn't."

They had reached the staircase when Harry finally said, "Willpower. You just have to close your mind to the outside."

"That's obvious, isn't it?"

"Look," he spoke, looking into the Slytherin's condescending eyes. "Why do you care if I managed to do that? You seem to pop up wherever I am. Do you think I'm that interesting?"

"Please, don't flatter yourself. You've been here what around three days?" asked she.

When Harry grunted an affirmative, she continued, "And in those days, you've made the Slytherin House hostile towards you, created a perfect N.E.W.T potion, picked an argument with a Gryffindor over some useless Hufflepuff, threatened him, and now you shook off one of The Three! Next, we'll find out you're immune to the other two, too."

"Er, no, I doubt it. You can't cast off death, can you?" Harry told her, thinking about what she had said. _If only you knew._

"True," she stated succinctly. "But still, you've made quite an impression, Peverell."

"Did I make one on you?"

"Yes, actually, especially since you're a half-blood."

"I'm honoured," Harry told her sarcastically.

They were at the bottom of the staircase by now, descending into the dungeons.

Hermione voiced, "You should be. Just who are you?"

"Harry James Peverell, proud half-blood!" he declared.

She pursed her lips at this. "You really are incorrigible."

"I guess I am," the boy yawned.

"Why must you make this hard for everyone?"

"Make what hard?" Harry held back a snort.

Ignoring the innuendo, she answered, "You have potential, Peverell. Why do you insist on wasting it sticking with people like Black, when you can have so much more. Your blood's the only thing that's going against you."

"Don't talk about him like that."

Both of them stopped a few feet away from the entrance to the Common Room.

Harry continued, "He's the only person who willingly approached me, instead of considering me a disgrace."

"Owls of a feather flock together."

"Tell me, what makes you think you know of my 'potential', as you put it when we haven't even known each other for a week?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? You have that aura of power around you. Like Dumbledore, like the Dark Lord."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," the boy said, genuinely surprised.

"Oh, yes. It's not that strong, of course, but it's there. People can feel it. Why do you think others stiffen up around you?"

"Because I'm not a pure-blood."

"That, too," Granger explained. "But they can feel it, too. You think you look like just another ordinary student, but you betray your own self. With a wand in hand, you're very self-assured."

"That's very observant of you, Hermione, but where are you going with this?"

"Just telling you that you could go far if you aim higher. You want revenge, don't you? Oh, don't deny it. And what do you need for revenge? You need power. And that's something you have."

By now, Harry had had enough. "And that's what you want. Don't try to use me."

Taken aback, a look of disappointment took its place on her face before being pushed away.

"You'll see the light, or should I say 'the dark'?" she added with a glint in her eyes.

"Interesting," Harry sighed, extending his hand. "See? We can talk like civilised people."

She looked at his hand and then his face before shaking her head, as if saying, 'I don't think so'. _Meh, I tried._

* * *

That night in bed, Harry thought about Hermione's 'offer'. Was she really serious? Sounded like it. He must have made a real impact if she had decided to walk with him to the dungeons. Just where could he get on his own? He wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived here. Once he was out of Hogwarts, he would be on his own. No relatives, no fame to hold on to, probably no friends that he could really count on. His heart sank as he thought of this. It was unavoidable. One day, he would have to manage on his own. And he would need contacts and in this world, who better to have vouch for you than some affluent pure-blood. Besides, he wouldn't be evil, would he? Many a time had he used a spell that would be considered 'dark', but he was alright.

Good and evil were relative terms, too. _Good guys always win? That just depends on who you consider to be the good guys._ At the same time, Harry didn't want to take up the offer because it might make him look needy - a half-blood looking to move up by performing lip service. Harry was many things, but he wasn't a hypocrite. He would do take his time to see how things turned out.

_It'll turn out_ okay, the boy told himself. Whispering this to himself, Harry drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_I know I said that I'll take a break, but I already had this partially typed out.  
_

_As for the explanation of multiple universes, I was inspired by the many-worlds interpretation of the quantum mechanics. Keyword: Inspired. The different universes cannot interact with each other. Look it up.  
_

_Reviews are welcome. Until next time!  
_


	6. Of Money and Sweets

_Thank you to everyone who's added the story to their favourites or alerts and to everyone who's reviewed.  
_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

* * *

The rest of the week passed by in a blur, with Harry consumed by homework, and before he knew it, it was Sunday. His relations with the Slytherins hadn't improved and Hermione Granger hadn't said a word to him again unless she absolutely had to, like in Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. Harry also did not mention anything about what she had said to him on THAT day.

A trip to Hogsmeade Village was scheduled for today at 2 pm, after lunch. Harry, though, wouldn't be joining the others as Dumbledore had held him back by sending him a message saying that he had something important to discuss with the boy. Castor was disappointed that he wouldn't be going along with him. The other boy had diligently described the village to Harry, who had (supposedly) never been there before. The students were gathered in the Entrance Hall a little before two so that Professor McGonagall could mark them 'present' on the list.

Once Harry was sure that everyone had left, he made his way up to the Headmaster's study. This time, fortunately, Dumbledore had given him the password to his office. With a knock on the door, he entered the office to find Dumbledore petting Fawkes.

"Ah, Mr. Peverell," he acknowledged the boy's presence. "Good afternoon."

"Afternoon, Professor." Harry replied.

The old wizard motioned him to take a seat in opposite him. Harry obliged, sitting silently until the headmaster took his seat as well. With the tips of his fingers together, Dumbledore spoke up.

"I hope you aren't angered by decision to hold you back while you're classmates have gone to the village."

"Oh, no, sir. It wouldn't be much use to go there."

"And why is that?"

"I don't really have any money."

That was the cold, hard truth. Without any form of currency, Harry could not hope to buy anything, and considering his situation, he knew he was broke.

Dumledore smiled. "It so happens that that is the reason that I have called you here, Mr. Peverell. You cannot hope to venture out into the world without anything of monetary value-"

Harry interrupted, "Do you think there's a way to fix that?"

Not minding the interruption, the old man continued, "As a matter of fact, there is one. It is clear that you are descended from the Peverells, right?"

Feeling that he had begun to catch on, Harry said, "Yes. So you mean that I should be able to access the vault?"

"Indeed. We might even have been able to get you the Potter money if it had not been handed over to Voldemort in the past by someone who, I believe, was your grandfather in your world."

"That's alright, but I can't be the only Peverell left. There could be loads of them who are called by other family names," Harry inquired.

"Right you are, Harry, but do you really think that they know that?"

Harry pondered over it for a moment. He hadn't know about his ancestor, Ignotus Peverell, until he realised the connection between him and his own Cloak of Invisibility. That, too, was sheer luck. If he had been someone like the 'old' Hermione, he wouldn't even have considered the possibility, thinking it to be too far-fetched. For someone else to have made such a connection would be almost impossible, considering that they did not have any sort of heirloom. The two elder brothers had never had any children, so that meant that the only living Peverells would be Ignotus' progeny. Harry understood what Dumbledore meant.

Comprehending the silence to mean that Harry agreed with him, Dumbledore resumed speaking, "Therefore, it is imperative that we visit Gringotts to fix this little issue."

Harry asked, "Er, now?"

"No time like the present, Mr. Peverell."

"Er, right, but how do the goblins know that I am who I am. Won't they require some sort of documentation? The goblins do run the bank, right?"

"Goblins do not care for such 'human' methods of identification, they prefer using blood. Voldemort did remove goblins from the banking sector in France, which led to several problems. Goblins may not be trustworthy, but when it comes to gold, they will guard it with their life."

"That does sound like them," Harry voiced. "But wait, won't my blood reveal me to be a Potter?"

"It will not do so as long as we present you as a Peverell. If my books are to be trusted, it is just a 'yes' or 'no' test. Either you are Peverell or you are not."

"I get it."

"Then I hope that you are ready."

Harry looked at his clothes. He looked presentable enough in his plain black robes (not the school ones) over his jeans and T-shirt.

"I am."

Dumbledore motioned him to come over to Fawkes' perch. Harry always did like the phoenix. Being near the bird made him feel unnaturally happy, calm, peaceful, everything good. He could only vaguely remember Dumbledore's funeral in the other world, but the departure of the phoenix was crystal clear. He could not help but feel sad when the bird had disappeared to no one knew where. Maybe he had gone to seek another worthy human. Maybe he had just gone. Now being near the bird once again and stroking its vibrant plumage made him realise how profound an effect it had on him. Dumbledore had put it right: "Fascinating creatures, phoenixes."

Harry was lost in his thoughts when flames erupted around him, and the office vanished. The fire did not burn at all. It was like Floo Travel, only better. There was no spinning, no ash or soot, no smell of something burning, no dizziness. It was better than Apparating - he wasn't being squeezed. One moment, he had been in the office. Then there had been golden flames. And then he was standing along with Dumbledore and Fawkes in what looked like a deserted alley.

In another flash of fire, the phoenix disappeared, leaving Harry and Dumbledore alone. The older of the duo instructed the younger to follow him. Once they were out of the alley, Harry found that they had entered Diagon Alley. Its general appearance had not changed except for maybe a few shops here and there that the boy did not recognise. The street was still as crowded as ever, though Harry did notice that he didn't see any children except really little ones as schools were open.

Another thing that the boy found amiss was that no one was surprised to see Dumbledore. It was as if they didn't even know he was there. _Probably using some sort of glamour charm to avoid being seen in public with a student._ The alley they had appeared in opened close to Ollivander's - a shop that Harry was happy to see, recalling what had happened to its aged proprietor in the other world. Silently, the pair made their way to the other side of the wizarding market.

The magnificent white building of Gringotts towered over the alley, its polished marble gleaming in the sunlight. White stairs led up to the bronze doors which were flanked by two goblins in red and gold, standing stiffly with spears in their hands. When the two wizards ascended the stairs, the goblins pushed open the doors. Judging by the flicker of recognition on their faces, Harry surmised that Dumbledore, who had dispelled the glamour, was a regular visitor here. Now he stood in a small chamber with another pair of bronze doors that was guarded by goblins. On the doors was craved the familiar inscription:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed  
'Of what awaits the sin of greed  
'For those who take, but do not earn,  
'Must pay most dearly in their turn.  
'So if you seek beneath our floors  
'A treasure that was never yours,  
'Thief, you have been warned, beware  
'Of finding more than treasure there._

At last, the two wizards were in the vast marble hall of the bank. On both their left and right, hideous goblins in suits were busy working on what appeared to be typewriters. Owing to the lack of clients, silence prevailed, apart from the occasional curse word uttered by a goblin at some mistake in his calculation. Gringotts never took a day off. _Never, not even on Sundays._ The echoes of their steps reverberated, prompting several pairs of eyes to follow them. After what seemed like eternity, the two reached the desk at the opposite end where a goblin with spectacles was pouring over piles of records, and took the two chairs opposite the goblin.

Dumbledore cleared his throat to get the creature's attention. The goblin looked up with one eyebrow raised.

"Yes, Mr. Dumbledore?" the goblin asked, tersely.

Dumbledore was, of course, aware that goblins were not the most polite of creatures, and so he dismissed the rudeness in the goblin's voice.

"Good day, Cogknob. I see you don't have many clients here today," the old man smiled.

Slightly irked, Cogknob replied, "Yes, it's Sunday today. People rarely come here on Sundays unless it is urgent business, which I believe you are also on. Who is the boy?"

Harry, who had been busy admiring the ceiling, jumped to attention and answered, "Harry Peverell!"

The goblin's lips contorted into half-smile, revealing sharp, yellow teeth.

"Peverell, Peverell. Now there's a name I haven't heard in a long time. Is this about what I think it's about?" Cogknob questioned Dumbledore.

"That depends what you think this about."

"You know very well what I am talking about, Mr. Dumbledore."

"I would rather hear it from you," the headmaster stated.

"Very well," Cogknob said through gritted teeth, lowering his voice. "The boy is here to claim the Peverell vault, is he not?"

When Dumbledore nodded, the goblin went on, "In that case, I believe that you are aware that we need to test you for proof."

This question was directed at Harry, who answered, "Y-yes. But what exactly is the test?"

"We merely need a blood sample of yours, Mr. Peverell - if that is your actual name."

Harry frowned. That wasn't so bad.

"I'll take it."

The goblin bent forward, "I hope that you are also aware of the fact that if you are not who you claim to be, you will, to put it plainly, die. We do not care about identity cards or any such records. Our method is much more expeditious. On the bright side, you will have instant access to your vault if you are who you claim to be."

Gulping, Harry looked at Dumbledore for advice, but the man merely nodded. That was good enough for Harry, who told the goblin that he would go through with it. Cogknob rang a bell, causing another goblin to come to him as fast as his little legs would allow him. Cogknob instructed him to bring something and then went back to his papers. Until the other goblin came back, the three sat in silence. Harry kept tapping his knees, thinking about what would happen if he wasn't a Peverell. Would he simply drop dead? Could the goblins really do that?

Finally, the other goblin, who Harry learnt was called Grimjaw came back and handed Cogknob a sheet of golden paper and a tray with a small knife and cotton on it.

"Very well," Cogknob began. "This is just one of the papers in our file of unclaimed vaults, Mr. Peverell. All we need is a drop or two of your blood. If you are who you say, the blood should disappear. If not..."

The goblin chuckled. Harry gulped. There was no going back now, so he held out his left arm and waited for Grimjaw to do it. The goblin expertly used the knife to make a shallow cut at the tip of his middle finger, letting out a few drops of scarlet liquid. Harry held his breath as the blood dripped onto the paper. Slowly, it began to disappear as if being absorbed by the paper. It left no stain. Harry sighed with relief.

"It seems that you have passed the test, Mr. Peverell," Cogknob spoke.

Curiously, a shaking Harry asked, "What would have happened if it hadn't worked? Would I really be dead?"

"Of course not. That is just a lie to try and get rid of people looking to try their luck. You would be surprised at the number of people who claim that they are descendants of old families just to get their hands on money."

The boy's jaw dropped. He stared at Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling as usual. _He knew, ARGH!_ What was done was done. He was a Peverell - not a shadow of a doubt remained. Cogknob sent Grimjaw to get they key to the vault.

"The fourteenth century, Mr. Peverell. That was the last time the vault was opened. You cannot begin to fathom how relieved everyone here is once a vault is reclaimed. Whenever a vault goes unclaimed, we see it as a mark of substandard work here. Gringotts prides itself on its service, so when a vault's owner cannot be traced, it is taken to be a sign that everything is not up to the mark. No one knows why the last owner stopped accessing it," the goblin told Harry.

"And why is that?" Dumbledore finally said.

"In days long gone, the system was quite different. The concept of inheritance was not the same. A person's offspring could not inherit a vault without explicit permission from the previous owner in the form of a written will. It so happened that the last owner, a Mathias Peverell, disappeared. No one knows why. Maybe he was killed, maybe he fled from someone. But he never came back. The vault wasn't passed on."

"So why can Harry here access it now?"

"I was getting to that. In the eighteenth century, the old laws were reviewed and several changes were introduced, among them the right of children to inherit vaults. But by then, the Peverell line was lost. They were either dead or married. While the dead could not access the vaults because they were, of course, dead, the ones who were married took on new names. Over time, the family was forgotten. There were several other families who had their vaults sealed away, but they were reopened whenever a claimant appeared who could prove his affiliation to the family, just like Mr. Peverell here."

Grimjaw returned with a small key in his stubby hand.

Cogknob stood up. "Follow us."

With that, both the goblins turned around with the wizards in tow.

* * *

The cart came to a sudden halt. Harry felt like vomiting. The other three occupants of the cart were sitting as if nothing had happened, as if this was something that they was mere routine. _It probably is for those goblins._ As for Dumbledore, _damn his ability to be calm all the_ _time!_ The quartet got out onto a level that Harry observed was deeper down, compared to his old vault, but there was still a long way down that you could go. That was where the major pure-blood families had their vaults.

The wizards followed the two goblins into a tunnel lined with circular metal doors that lead to the vaults, finally coming to a stop at, if Harry was correct in his counting, the twelfth door from the place where they had made their landing. Grimjaw went forward and inserted the key into the keyhole. The door did not swing open instantly as Harry had expected it to. The goblin pushed it hard and with a loud creak, it slowly moved, like a skeleton being forced to come to life after eons of inactivity. Another almighty heave and the door finally swung back completely.

Golden galleons, silver sickles, bronze nuts. Lots of them. It wasn't anything like the vault that Harry had broken into along with his two friends, nor was it like the other vault that he had possessed. The piles of gold told Harry that he was quite well-off, though he could definitely not match up to the amount of gold that other pure-blood families possessed.

"Is this everything, Cogknob?" the boy heard the headmaster ask.

"Everything. It isn't the biggest vault we have, but this would be enough for a few years if used wisely, unless Mr. Peverell here likes to enjoy a lavish lifestyle like some of our clients."

Harry detected a hint of bitterness in the goblin's voice when he said the last part.

"Oh, no, Cogknob, this is perfect," Harry said quickly.

"You can attribute a lot of this money to the fact that no one opened the vault so long. All the interest keeps getting added automatically. Accumulation of interest over more than five hundred years does wonders for the financially inclined."

At this, both the goblins chuckled as if Cogknob had made a rather funny joke. _Must be goblin humour. _He still needed a way to carry all the gold. Just as he was going to ask the goblin for a bag, the headmaster withdrew a small pouch from inside his robes.

"Mokeskin," Harry breathed.

Dumbledore nodded and handed it to the boy. "I expect that you are aware of its function. Whatever you put in it, only you can take it out. This one has been charmed to hold much more than what it would normally hold."

"Um, thanks, Professor," Harry mumbled, not knowing what to say. Mokeskin pouches were pretty rare and for Dumbledore to just be handing one over to him was unexpected. "They're pretty rare, aren't they?"

"In England, yes. The one you're holding comes from Romania. Hagrid sent me several of them."

_Good ol' Hagrid._

Grimjaw coughed, "Mr. Peverell, if you would please get this over with."

Realising that the goblins were getting tired of standing there, the boy hurried over to the piles of coins. A handful of galleons, a load of sickles and a number of knuts. At first, he added the coins one by one, checking to see how heavy the pouch became, but there was no change. Assured that he could put in whatever amount he wanted without fear of it being stolen, Harry grabbed fistfuls of money into the pouch, making sure to take only a small part of what was inside the vault. Finally, he pulled the strings of the pouch, closing it.

"Finally," Harry heard one of the goblins mumble.

* * *

Fawkes' perch in Dumbledore's office burst into flames as the bird brought the two wizards back to the castle with him, appearing right over his perch. Harry couldn't help but smile at this 'feat' of Fawkes. Dumbledore went over to his chair and Harry took the same seat that he had earlier sat on. Dumbledore looked deep in thought, and Harry did not bother to disturb him. Before the silence could turn awkward, the old man finally spoke.

"Harry, have you thought about your lack of an official identity?"

That was one thing that had been nagging the boy for quite some time now. "Many times, sir."

"Have you thought about doing something about it?"

"No," the boy shook his head. "If I apply for citizenship or something of the like, I'll be bombarded with questions. Plus, there's no record of me ever being anywhere, so I might be considered some sort of conman."

"That is quite perceptive of you, my boy, but there is a way around it."

"Really?" Harry arched his eyebrows.

"Indeed. I believe you are familiar with the term 'forgery'."

The boy's jaw dropped. Dumbledore and forgery? What in the world was wrong? He couldn't imagine this seemingly righteous man to sink to such a level.  
Dumbledore had noticed the shock on the boy's face.

"Come now, Harry, you don't really think that you could get them the 'right' way, do you?"

"Er, um...no..." he mumbled, defeated.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures. You can't hope to leave school without official proof of your identity, unless you plan on not working for anyone. You could adopt a nomadic lifestyle, but I doubt it would suit you."

Harry chuckled slightly at that. Dumbledore was right. There wasn't really any other way. He _might_ get caught with forged documents, but if he went for genuine ones, he _would_ get caught, probably taking Dumbledore down with him. He didn't fancy that happening. Best listen to Dumbledore.

"Go on," Harry said.

"Among my many contacts, there is one who can help you. He specialises in such work. Though he is a bit expensive, I doubt you will have any problems with that."

"So do I have to go somewhere again?"

"Oh, no. It will be done."

"What about photos?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"The documents don't require any. That is one of the fundamental flaws of the wizarding world - the failure to embrace muggle advancements. There aren't any fingerprints either, as there is no database where everything can be stored. I have seen how the Muggles do it. You put the information into these computer machines and they compare the fingerprints to all those that have been stored. Effortless and efficient."

_That's pretty stupid_, Harry thought_, not having any identification marks. _That would mean that the documents were a mere formality, utterly useless.

"Well, thank you for all this, Professor," Harry expressed his gratitude. "Do I need to write down everything about me?"

"There is no need to thank me, Harry. I am just looking after my students. And I have everything in here," he replied, tapping his head, eliciting a smile from the young man.

"In that case, I really should go. Everyone will be returning soon, it's half an hour to four."

He got up and bid both the headmaster and the phoenix farewell, stuffing the mokeskin pouch into his robes.

* * *

Harry was alone in the common room with two Second Years when the students returned from the trip. He had been finishing up on his homework when the wall moved and a crowd of students entered, laughing and chatting loudly and hugging bags of sweets. Harry's presence, if noticed, was ignored. He had observed a change in the Slytherin's behaviour towards him. No longer did they dish out derogatory comments, choosing to ignore him entirely, for which Harry was grateful. Everyone was happy that way. They didn't bother him, so he never bothered them back.

A grinning Castor Black jumped onto the couch and slapped Harry on the back before shoving turning over his bag of sweets to let the colourful contents flow onto the table. Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans - check. Ice Mice - check. Skeletal Sweets - check. Salt Water Taffy and Liquorice Wands - check. Cockroach Clusters - _What in the world is he doing with those?_ Harry knew better than to ask. There were several bars of what could only be chocolate that were eerily familiar to Harry.

"Look, Harry!" Castor thrust one into Harry's hands. "Mars bars! Mars bars! Loads of them. Muggle chocolate. Honeydukes finally stocked them after years of my requests!"

"Take it easy there," Harry put a hand on the shoulder of the boy, who had already begun to consume on of the bars.

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Take something."

Delighted, Harry grabbed one and put the whole bar into his mouth, reveling in the taste. He recalled looking for them on the Hogwarts Express' trolley in his First Year. It took several years but he finally had one now and he would enjoy it! Next to him, Castor's eyes were about to pop out of his eyeballs. The boy looked crazed as he stuffed his mouth with candy, all the while muttering, "Chocolaty goodness, sweet chocolaty goodness."

Harry felt horrified and amused at the same time. He thought about stopping his friend but knew better than to come between a boy and his Mars. Shrugging, he began trying out the various sweets, making sure to keep away from the Cockroach Clusters. Harry noticed a shadow on the sweets. He turned around and found himself looking at Hermione Granger, whose facial expression was a mixture of disgust and bemusement as she shifted her gaze from Castor to the sweets to Harry and back to Castor, who seemed to be unaware of her presence.

"Close your mouth, Black, you look dumber than you already are. Eating muggle sweets, tsk," she said.

When Castor did not reply, Harry grabbed a chocolate bar and held it out to her. "Would you like some? They're rather good."

"I'd rather not, Peverell," she refused in her silky voice. "I might turn out like him."

Harry shifted his eyes to her own brown paper bag. "Can I have those then?"

"Only if you beg," the girl smirked.

"I'll pass."

"Suit yourself."

With that, she walked away, leaving the two boys with their sweets. After finishing his sixth chocolate bar, Castor finally came back to his senses.

"Oh, Harry! When did you get here?"

Harry's jaw dropped.

"I've been here for a long time."

"Right you are, I lose track of time when I'm eating chocolate. Muggles sure know how to make good chocolate, don't they?"

"Yep," Harry agreed. "I've been wanting one for a long time."

"So you've had them before, too. Did you try anything else?"

"Everything except the Cockroach Clusters- Hey! How can you eat those?!"

Castor, who had just put one of the Clusters into his mouth shrugged. "Like this?"

He bit it. Harry felt sick.

"What did you do the whole time?"

"Oh, homework," Harry mumbled.

"Sounds exciting," the other boy said sardonically.

"Very. Thanks for sharing these, by the way."

With a 'meh', Black waved the thanks away. "So, are you going to join the Dueling Club?"

"Dueling Club? You have that here?" Harry questioned.

"Wait, your school didn't have one?"

"They tried to start one back in my second year, but it never caught on," Harry explained. _It's the_ _truth!_

Raising his eyebrows, Castor commented, "Tough luck. We have one every year."

"What do you do?"

"We duel," the boy deadpanned.

"Interesting. And?"

"Basically," he began, tossing another Cockroach Cluster into his mouth. "It was set up for fun. You know how we aren't allowed magic in the corridors, right? So we needed a place to practice. Back when I was in my second year, Dumbledore gave permission to set it up, though you can't join until you're in your fourth year."

"Then all you do is get together and cast spells at each other. Sounds rather monotonous."

"But it's not! There's a tournament for sixth and seventh year students, too, where you get to compete with the school's best."

Harry sat up straight. "Is there a prize?"

"You get a trophy and a hundred points. You love getting points, don't you?"

"What's your point?"

"Ha, point. Sorry. I'm just asking whether you're gonna enter. If you ask me, you should," Castor opined

"And why is that?"

"You ask a lot of questions. I don't know. You could go far, I think, if you can replicate your classroom achievements."

"Are you going to join?"

"Duh! There wasn't any tournament last year because no seventh years signed up for the club. Imagine that! So this is my last chance to try my hand at this."

Harry thought about it for a while. He had been looking forward to dueling someone. This was the perfect opportunity. He might even face that Gryffindor prat and teach him a lesson. After all, what was there to lose? He mulled over it. There wasn't really any other way to go. In the past, he might have felt like settling down, away from the spotlight, but the truth was that he was used to it now. He craved action.

"I'll do it then! I'll sign up tomorrow."

"Oh, no," Castor voiced. "Hey, kid! Those are mine!"

A curious First Year was touching the Cockroach Clusters, thinking they were peanuts. At Castor's admonition, she jumped and hurried back to her friends. Castor grabbed a handful of the Clusters and tossed them into the air one by one, catching them in his open mouth, sickening Harry.

"Delicious," he wiped his mouth. "As I was going to say, we sign up today. Come on, Harry. Harry? Is there something wrong?"

But Harry was already on his way to the toilet, grasping his stomach and looking sick.

"Must be something he ate," Castor said to no one in particular.

* * *

_The chapter was shorter than what I intended on writing, but I really needed to get the money thing out of the way. Can't have a broke Harry running around, can we?_

_As always, reviews are welcome. _


	7. Peverell Of The Patronus

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

* * *

Monday morning found Harry running into the bathroom and hurriedly splashing water over his face. He had gotten up later than usual. It was almost nine, which meant that he had missed breakfast. Heartbroken, the boy brushed his indomitable hair. It was no use, he discovered as his hair kept returning back to its messy look. His scar, which had not pained him ever since his fight with Voldemort, was concealed by jet-black hair. _That must mean that I'm not connected to him here. _Tossing the hairbrush away, he swung his bag over his left shoulder and hurriedly left the dormitory.

On the other side of the 'Slytherin Wall', as he liked to call it, Harry lengthened his strides as he ran up the stairs to Classroom 3C for Defence Against the Dark Arts. He was halfway there when he heard the clock strike nine. _Damn._ He was almost on the third floor when the staircase began to shift, causing him to swear badly and scare away a ghost that had been passing by.

After much running, a panting Harry Peverell arrived in front of the classroom. Without thinking, he burst in, declaring, "Finally!"

He heard snickers coming from everywhere and saw the teacher looking at him as if he had gone insane. Too tired to feel embarrassed, he mumbled an apology for being late, blaming it on Castor for having made him sick by eating Cockroach Clusters. _Speak of the devil! _The classroom's door opened once again to reveal Castor Black.

"Sorry about that, Professor. I had to deal with two troublemakers," he said and went to his seat beside Rookwood, whispering a hello.

Harry, who had taken his seat next to Hermione Granger, couldn't believe how he forgot that the boy was a prefect. _Probably because he doesn't act like it!_ He didn't bother thinking about it anymore and thanked his lucky stars that the professor hadn't penalised him, instead telling him to make sure it never happened again. He could have sworn he saw a hint of a smile upon her lips. With an abrupt 'hi' to his reluctant partner, the boy directed his attention to the teacher who had just stood up.

Without warning, a freezing chill descended upon the room, causing everyone to tense up. The light from the lamps grew dimmer. Questions were shouted out as everyone looked around them in an effort to understand what was happening. Harry, whose heart had begun to beat rather fast, gulped. There was only one thing that could have caused this.

"Dementors!" the professor declared aloud.

As soon as she had said the word, the room's former warmth returned and the lamps returned to their normal brightness. Professor Klein was holding out her wand and a faint smile graced her face. Harry sighed with relief, and so did everyone else who realised what had happened.

"That would be the first thing you would notice if you were ever to encounter one. A sudden chill and the flickering of lights. Tell me, were you scared?" she asked.

There were several nervous chuckles. Someone even said, "You had us there, Professor."

"If that scared you, I wonder what you'll do against a real one. That isn't close to what they can do. But we'll come to that in a minute. How many of you were able to relate what you experienced to the effects of a Dementor?"

Only a few hands rose up, Harry's among them. He was quick to observe that his partner had her hand raised, too, looking rather bored.

"I'm glad to see that some of you have bothered opening your books to study ahead. Where was I? Yes, the powers of Dementors. They are among the foulest creatures to walk the Earth. Well, not exactly as they don't walk. They glide. To put it in the simplest possible way, they suck out your happiness. It feeds them, strengthens them. The victim, on the other hand, is forced to relive the worst of his or her experience. It is no wonder why Azkaban is feared by wizards everywhere, though it is debatable whether even criminals deserve such a punishment. And then there is the worst of their powers. What is it, Miss Warwick?"

A pretty, blonde, Ravenclaw witch answered quickly, "The Dementor's Kiss?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Telling you?"

"Miss Warwick!"

"Telling you, Professor."

"In that case, you are correct. The Dementor's Kiss is what makes Dementors so fearsome. It is when a Dementor clamps its mouth over the victim's and sucks out their soul."

"So they're dead?" Warwick asked.

Professor Klein's voice lowered, "Much worse. The victim is alive as long as the brain and heart keep working, but is nothing more than an empty shell. No emotions, no anything - sort of like comatose state."

"What does a Dementor look like under its hood, Professor?" Rookwood inquired, looking interested.

"Ah, yes, we're getting to that, too."

She waved her wand and the projector at the back of the room sprang to life as a white screen descended from the ceiling. There was nothing but white light at first but with a few more waves of her wand, the professor managed to get the projector to work properly. The image projected was of a humanoid creature in ripped black cloth and a hood over its head. A scabbed, rotten, grey hand was held in the air as if reaching out for something. Just looking at it gave the students shivers. Even Harry, who had encountered them several times couldn't help but feel uneasy by the sight of it.

Another wave of the professor's wand and the image changed. "Ughs" and "gross" were the only words that could be heard as everyone looked at the Dementor. It had no hood on and its putrefied head was visible. There were no eyes, nor was there any nose. The face was featureless except for a gaping hole which was its mouth. _I'd hate to kiss that thing_, Harry thought to himself. _You know it's disgusting when even Castor wrinkles his nose at it. And Granger, too. Wait, she does that at everything. _

"Gross, indeed," the professor agreed, tapping the projector.

The image changed once again. This time it was a frail, bald man with glazed eyes, staring at something in the distance. His face showed no emotion and his mouth was open.

"You don't need to be a genius to figure what this one is about. Am I right, Miss Granger?" Professor Klein asked.

"Indeed," Hermione Granger answered. "The man has clearly been kissed."

"Yes, but what brought you to that conclusion, apart from the fact that we were just discussing the Kiss?"

"It's the blank look on his face, like he doesn't feel anything. That's what Dementors do - drain your emotions. He looks rather pathetic. He is most likely a former prisoner of Azkaban," Hermione explained.

"Aptly put. Take five points for Slytherin. Now we know what a Dementor can do. Before anyone can ask me, the origin of these fiends is unclear. We do not know how they came to be, and maybe we never will know. Some people believe that they are due to the collection of negative energy that people possess, sort of like an amalgamation of sadness. Another equally strange, and perhaps silly, idea is that they grow in dark, abandoned places like mould on bread. There is no proof of this idea either."

This was something Harry never knew. He had often wondered how a Dementor came into being. As he had been looking forward to finding out the answer in this class, he was disappointed. The second 'theory' made him quite uneasy as he imagined walking into a dark cave and then running into a dead end, finding himself in front of a wall with Dementor heads sprouting out of it. Nope, definitely not good.

"How do you kill a Dementor?" inquired Rookwood.

"You don't." The professor replied quickly. "You can't. While a Dementor will die if it is unable to feed on human emotions for an extended period of time, if cannot be killed directly. Does that make sense to everyone?"

The class murmured a 'yes' in unison.

"Right. But there is a way to repel them. Your book, for reasons unbeknownst to me, does not mention this method. Nevertheless, it is in the syllabus, which means that we have no option but to cover it. So who here knows what I'm talking about?"

Peering out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed that no one seemed to know what she was talking about. Everyone looked at the teacher expectantly, who stared back with a frown on her face. She stood still for a while with her arms folded.

"Come on! How can you have not heard of it? I'm talking about-"

"The Patronus Charm," Harry blurted out.

Relaxing, Professor Klein smiled. "Finally! Yes, I was talking about the Patronus Charm or 'Expecto Patronum' , an extremely complex spell. In fact, the Charms curriculum does not include it due to the difficulty level."

"Then why do we have to learn about it here?" asked Castor Black.

"Because that is what you signed up for, Mr. Black, defending against Dark creatures. You don't find me teaching you how to levitate objects, do you, even if it's taught in Charms? There is no use for that here. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes..."

"Good. As I was saying, the Patronus is a difficult spell to achieve mastery in. Do not be discouraged if you are unable to produce one properly - many experienced wizards and witches have trouble with it, too. Luckily for you, the examiners understand that, so casting it is usually set as an optional task in the N.E.W.T.S. What is a Patronus? You could call it the manifestation of a happy memory. It acts as a defence against Dementors and Lethifolds. The Dementor feeds off this memory, leaving the caster alone. But that ruins the whole point of the spell, doesn't it? Once it's done with the memory, it can always decide that it feels particularly hungry. That is where the corporeal Patronus comes in. Are you writing this down?"

The pupils, who had been listening intently, realised the need to write all this down since the book did not contain any information on the topic. Harry, who did not feel the need to take notes, pretended to jot down points. The teacher waited for a while before resuming.

"The weaker or incorporeal Patronus is a white fog or smoke that acts as a shield - it forms a wall between you and the Dementor, but doesn't drive it away. As you all will have realised by now, a corporeal Patronus is one with the well-defined shape of a glowing animal, usually one which has a close association with the caster. It is a 'true' Patronus and can actually drive away Dementors. You may have a pet dog that you are attached to, causing you to cast a dog-shaped Patronus."

"P-professor, what's yours?" a scrawny Ravenclaw asked.

"Wait, I'm coming to the practical part now that we know what a Patronus is. As I said earlier, the incantation is 'Expecto Patronum'. There is no fixed wand movement. What you do need to do is to think of a very powerful, very happy memory. Without this, you cannot cast the charm, so start thinking of one. Once you have the memory in your mind, you point your wand *she raised her wand* and Expecto Patronum!"

There was a flash of light and white fog poured out of the wand, taking the shape of bear which clawed the air in front of it before fading away. The class applauded the small performance. Harry spent this time trying to think of a memory. Over the years, he had gathered a plethora of happy ones but he didn't know which one to use. He finally decided to go with a tried and tested one - thinking of his parents. He wasn't even sure if his memories of them were real, but they did seem to do the job.

"Now it's your turn, class. Ten points to those who manage to produce something. Ready your wands. You know the spell. Go."

Cries of 'Expecto Patronum' and disappointment echoed in the classroom. Next to Harry, Hermione Granger was looking at her wand as if she thought there was something wrong with it. Surely, she couldn't have expected to have succeeded on the first try! _Or maybe she did. That's what she's like._ Clearing his throat, Harry pointed his wand straight ahead.

"Expecto Patronum!" he pronounced clearly.

The silver stag burst from the tip of the wand, growing in size as it landed on the floor, head held high, before cantering around the room. Amidst the gasps, Harry distinguished a few whoops of admiration as he proudly observed the graceful progress of his Patronus. Though his partner attempted to keep a straight face, it was obvious that even she was impressed by the stag which had come to a halt in front of Harry, radiating warmth. Finally, the stag's light began to fade away.

"Did you look at that, everyone? Of course you did! A stag! Thirty points to Slytherin for that splendid display. Beautiful, Peverell, beautiful!" exclaimed the professor, looking delighted.

"Thirty? Judging by what you said about its difficulty, that warrants at least a hundred points!" argued Castor, much to Harry's amusement.

"And I would have given him those extra seventy points had it been his first try. Yes, Peverell, I know you weren't taking notes. You looked a little too self-assured while casting the spell. I knew you must have been able to cast it. But I must admit, the corporeal Patronus was a surprise."

"Er, thanks, Professor," said Harry, trying to look a little embarrassed at having been caught.

"If you don't mind my asking, when did you learn to cast that?" the woman asked him, her curiosity visibly aroused.

"In my third year..."

"The corporeal version?"

Harry nodded. "My Defence teacher taught it to me because my Boggart's a Dementor."

The professor spoke in a low voice, "Judging by your performance in my class, I'd say this teacher of yours was very capable."

"Yeah, he was pretty amazing," Harry blurted out. "Not that you're bad, no. You're good. I mean, er, yes he was capable."

Ignoring his stuttered words, the professor turned back to the rest of the students who had decided to use the distraction to converse with each other. A clearing of the professor's throat was all that was needed to bring the class' attention back to her.

"Now that you've seen two corporeal Patronuses, you have a good idea of what they look like. As Mr. Peverell demonstrated, it is not impossible. He's been doing it since his third year, which means that you should also be able to cast the charm, even if it isn't as well-defined. Keep trying and you're bound to get a hang of it. Keep practicing and you're bound to manage something. The class is almost over so we'll stop here. Your only homework is to work on the charm. Think of a very happy memory. Recalling a birthday party isn't going to help you."

There were groans at this. Harry sniggered at the thought of everyone trying to cast the Patronus charm while thinking of a birthday party. He himself had done something similar when he had thought about the first time he had flown a broom. That hadn't been nearly strong enough. Propping his head in the palm of his hand, he fixed his attention on his partner, feeling rather pleased at her failure and exasperation.

* * *

"Damn it, Harry, I can see why you're related to Dumbledore now," remarked Castor as the pair exited the classroom.

"Oh, come on. Anyone can do it if they work hard enough," Harry said, pushing his way through the throng of students.

"Yeah, yeah. But you were in your third year!"

"Fine, I'm good at it. I enjoy Defence."

"So what do we have now?"

Harry glanced over at his timetable. "Nothing, we're free for the next hour. Let's eat, I'm starving."

"We've gotta sign up for the Dueling Club. You can eat later. If you're really hungry, I've got a few Cockroach Clusters in my pocket."

"On second thought, I'm feeling rather full."

Harry had thought it over while waiting for sleep to come last night. If he signed up and managed to make an impact, everyone in school would know about him, and he would no longer be just Harry, the transfer student from across the Atlantic. But then again, it would be foolish of him to think that he had not succeeded in making an impression.

The Slytherins and Gryffindors had seen him brew a perfect N.E.W.T potion on his 'first' try. Then there was that incident with the transfiguration. _That was an accident!_ Moreover, he had confronted a Gryffindor in front of a crowd of students, defending a Hufflepuff of all people! _A Slytherin defending a Hufflepuff. Sounds like the name of a really bad book. _The Patronus right now was the icing on the cake.

He had realised that keeping a low profile wasn't something he would ever be able to. For some reason or another, he would always be thrust into the spotlight. He was in a place where Voldemort wasn't looking for ways to kill him, and he better start taking advantage of that. It didn't matter if he was a particularly talented student, did it? No one would think he was the next Dark Lord. Even if they did, it might not be so bad, since Voldemort wasn't exactly a despised figure in this world. Sure, he wanted to be normal, but in his case, being extraordinarily different was normal. _Just go for it!_

"Lead the way, Mr. Black."

"Follow me."

Castor led him back to the class, against the flow of students. After much pushing and shouting, they managed to reach Classroom 3C. Castor knocked on the door and dragged Harry inside with him. Professor Klein was clearing away the desks with her wand, and a small wooden chest lay at her feet, occasionally rattling. She looked quizzically at the two boys.

"Is there a problem?"

"We're here to sign up for the Dueling Club, Professor," answered Castor.

"So you are, but what about Mr. Peverell? By the way you're dragging him, it looks like you've forced him to come here."

Castor immediately let go of Harry's sleeve. Harry straightened it before answering.

"No, Professor. I do want to join."

The woman's face lit up. "In that case, you're a welcome addition to the club. I'll write down your names. Mr. Peverell, are you aware of how we do things around here?"

"Yes, he told me." He pointed to his friend. "So, er, that's it. We'll be off."

"We'll be having a session this week. Keep checking the noticeboards."

"There's a Boggart in there, right?" asked Castor.

"Yes, it's for the next class. In fact, it's the same one your class faced in your third year. I recall you cowering before a lizard."

"Let's not talk about that," the boy hastily spoke. "See you later, Professor!"

For the second time that day, the two boys left the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. This time, though, Harry was in hysterics, much to the chagrin of the other boy.

"A lizard?" Harry wheezed as the pair descended the staircase . "I wish I had been there."

"It was big, Harry. Really big. I just tripped because I was surprised."

"Still a lizard."

"Hey," Castor argued. "They're weird. The way they look at you from the ceiling, you'd think they were planning to destroy you."

"Maybe they are, you never know. Weird things like that happen in Muggle movies."

"So you've watched a movie? What's it like?!"

This was unexpected. "Er, it's like a wizard picture where the people move. The difference is that it has a plot, it's coloured and the people talk."

"Have you ever been to any of those huge theaters?"

"A cinema? Once," Harry answered, thinking of the only time when he had actually visited a movie theater. It had been a school trip before he went to Hogwarts. The Dursleys would never have taken him anywhere.

"I've always wanted to see one ever since I saw a moviebox in a muggle shop."

"Moviebox?"

"That box which shows you the moving pictures!"

"A television!" Harry laughed.

"Same thing."

When the two reached the Entrance Hall, Castor told Harry to wait for him since he really needed to make a trip to the washroom. _Ha! Those Cockroach Clusters caught up with him,_ he thought to himself as his friend headed to the nearest toilet. He didn't feel like waiting there. Whistling a random tune to himself, Harry made his way to the Slytherin Common Room. Having lived in the dungeons for a week, Harry had gotten used to them. In fact, he rather liked them, preferring the dull green lighting to the bright yellow one in Gryffindor Tower, even if the people weren't as friendly. He now stood in front of the Slytherin Wall.

"Pure-Blood!" he uttered the new password, causing the wall to slide aside, revealing an almost empty Common Room.

_Look who we have here._ Hermione Granger, who was sitting on one of the sofas with her feet propped up on the center table, threw him a short glance before turning back to the thick book in her hand, her hair twirled around her finger. Harry tossed his bag onto the table and jumped onto the opposite sofa. He sat there silently staring at her. Initially, she paid no heed to him, but curiosity finally got the better of her, much to Harry's pleasure.

"Is there something you'd like to say, Peverell?" she asked without lifting her gaze from the book.

"What have you got there?" he motioned to the book.

"None of your business."

"I don't care. I do like a good book."

"This isn't something Patronus Peverell would be interested in," she answered silkily, finally looking at him.

"Patronus Peverell?" Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "I actually like it. Has a nice ring to it."

"You flatter yourself. Now do you mind?" she asked, raising the book.

Fortunately for Harry, she had raised the book enough for him to make read the title. The girl realised this, too, and quickly placed the book back onto her thighs.

"The Incomplete Guide to the Dark Arts, eh? I don't think I'll be able to find that in the library."

"You won't. Now I'm sure this is going to stay between us."

"If I don't agree?"

"Then I'll have found someone on whom I can test everything I've learned. Practice makes perfect, doesn't it?" Her voice carried the hint of a threat.

Not unnerved, Harry answered, "It does. Unfortunately for you, I have no intention of tattling, so you'll have to find a new guinea pig. Everyone has their interests and you have yours."

He could see that this puzzled the girl. He bet she would have loved to curse the hell out of him. _How could Patronus Peverell have given up the opportunity of turning her over to the Headmaster?_ Harry gave her credit for the way she handled it. Most people would have panicked had they been caught possessing a book about the Dark Arts, unless it was a way to counter them.

"Has Patronus Peverell disappointed you?" he asked mockingly.

"A little," she said, putting the book aside. "Test subjects are hard to find. I've asked Everard if he'd volunteer, but he's too much of a coward."

"Really? Well you'll have to forgive him if he doesn't appreciate being subjected to a few Dark curses," Harry spoke sarcastically. "What about everyone else?"

"What part of 'this is going to stay between us' don't you understand?" she huffed.

"So you and Rookwood are partners in crime? I suddenly don't like the idea of sleeping in the same room as him."

"You could say that. It isn't often that we get the time to look things up in this book, and here you are, wasting my time."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, "I'm not the one who set the book aside so she could talk to me, am I?"

"Are you?"

"Playing my game, are we?"

"I tried," she admitted. "It's not much fun."

"Leave that to Peverell of the Patronus."

"I'll admit that that was impressive what you did in class. It wasn't entirely surprising though."

Harry asked, "Is that so? The look on your face didn't say that."

"Oh, that was just the heat of the moment getting to me. And yes, it is so. Everard calls you Peverell Pureheart," she smirked. "They say the pure of heart are the only ones who can cast true Patronuses, so I've decided I won't even try. By the glow of your stag though, I'd say Everard was right."

_Oh, god. Peverell Pureheart? Seriously? _"At least you admit you won't be able to cast it. That's gotta count for something. What if you have to face a Dementor?"

"The chances of that happening," she tucked a loose strand of her golden-brown hair behind her ear, "are slim at best. Is that why you learnt it? You face Dementors on a daily basis, do you?"

Harry chuckled, "Weren't you paying attention in class?"

"The Boggart? You're telling me that your learn the Patronus Charm even though a Riddikulus would have sufficed. You're stupider than you look."

"Then I'm not stupid at all," Harry countered. "I couldn't bring myself to even cast that! You won't understand until you face one on your own."

"I guess I won't, but I can live with that," she shrugged. "So what you fear is fear itself."

"Apparently."

"Are you confused as to whether you're a Slytherin or Gryffindor?"

"Why do you say that?" Harry inquired, feigning ignorance.

"I'd rather not go into the details."

"Suit yourself. Where is everybody, anyways?"

Hermione replied, "I don't know and nor do I care. Why are you here? You and Black are always together."

"He had to go to the toilet. I knew the Cockroach Clusters would end up hurting him."

The girl's face contorted into an expression of disgust. "He still eats those?"

"He does. I guess he's offered you some, too."

"No. He did mix some in a bag of peanuts once to share with everyone. Ended up giving half the house a heart attack when he told them what he had done."

Harry burst into laughter at the mental picture of the ever-stoic Slytherins on their knees, clutching their stomachs and trying to vomit the dreaded sweet out. The look on Granger's face suggested that she, unlike Harry , was not electrified by the prank. A cloud of silence so thick that you could cut it with a knife covered the room for a while once Harry had quieted down. Neither person spoke. At last, Hermione Granger opened her mouth.

"Your Patronus just goes to prove what I said, Peverell."

"Eh?" Harry asked. "What?"

"You've got talent. You're powerful. As much as I might want to, I can't deny that. Did you think about what I said?"

"About seeing the dark? Yeah, I did."

"And?"

Impatience was etched across her face as she awaited his answer. She tilted her head as if telling him to get a move on.

"And," Harry began. "And I'm not sure."

"What?" she asked bemusedly.

"I'm not sure. I mean, do I really want to align myself with people who hate me for my blood and are only tolerating me because they think I've got potential? Tell me, do I?"

"How would I know?" she queried, clearly vexed. "Where are you going with this?"

"Look, I'll be honest. I know that you think a half-blood like me won't stand a chance in the outside world. Maybe you're right. But there are loads of half-bloods. You can't just select one who you won't treat like filth," Harry argued.

"Why can't I?" she asked in a low voice.

"It's not right."

"Unlike you, most of us here don't do the right thing, Peverell. We do what must be done."

"Of course, you do. But then again, what is 'right' is relative, isn't it? To you, what you do is right."

"Don't digress, Peverell. What do you say? There is always room for someone of your caliber. Why waste it when you can achieve so much more with the right kind of people?" she asked, stretching her legs on the table.

"Who are you to judge whether or not I'm wasting my talent? Look at the Headmaster, if you're to be believed, he practically oozes power."

"And so does the Dark Lord," Hermione countered. "And look at them. One's a bumbling old headmaster, and the other is the leader of half of Wizarding Europe."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

"That's exactly my point. You're okay with wasting your talent."

Harry finally said, "You seem to take an awful lot of interest in me."

"You make it hard not to," she stated succinctly.

"That explains a lot."

"Tell me, are you taking part in the Dueling Club?"

"Um, yeah," Harry answered. "Why do you ask?"

Hermione swept her hair out of her face. "I just look forward to wiping the floor with you to show you that you're wrong. The Dark delivers on its promises."

"We're allowed Dark curses?" Harry asked, surprised.

"As long as you don't aim to kill, anything goes."

"In that case, I might surprise you even more."

At soon as Harry said that, the Slytherin Wall began to move, causing Hermione to hastily grab her book and clutch it against her chest, its name hidden. Castor Black and walked in, his trademark smile on his face. It faltered when he saw Hermione, but he did give her a wave. As usual, she ignored it, and got up. Without a final glance at Harry, she walked back to her dormitory. _Probably went there to stow away that_ _book._ Harry turned his attention to Castor.

"Where in the world were you?"

He shrugged, "Once you abandoned me, Harry, I decided to look for you outside, but without any success. But I did succeed in catching two Fourth Years dueling in the corridors. They've got detention now."

"How much longer till lunchtime?" Harry moaned.

"Well, we have potions first. Then you can go eat as much as you want."

"Fine." Harry's shoulders slumped. Then it hit him. "Hey, come with me."

Harry grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He led Castor up to the ground floor before pulling him down another staircase.

"Harry, where are we going?" Castor inquired, puzzled. "This leads to the Hufflepuff Basement."

"I know. Stop!"

Both of them came to a halt in front of a large painting of a fruit bowl. There were bananas, apples, grapes and mangoes, but what stood out the most was a single pear.

Castor sighed, "Look, Harry, I know you're hungry but you can't just stand here and look at this painting. Let's get a move one."

"Wait!" Harry called. "Prepare to be dazzled."

He lifted his finger and moved it over the pear as if tickling it. It moved. Then it did something quite unexpected.

"Is it laughing? Oh, Merlin!" Castor remarked.

The pear laughed and giggled and squirmed as Harry tickled it. Soon it began to transform. Where the pear had been was now a green door-knob. He grabbed it and turned it. The painting swung open like a door, revealing-

"THE KITCHEN!" Castor gasped.

The duo walked inside, looking around. The room was gigantic and had a high ceiling. Five tables, congruent to the ones above in the Great Hall, were being set by hundred of House Elves. The walls were covered with cupboards lined with pots and pans of different colours and sizes. At the other end of the hall was a large fireplace. Cauldrons of simmering soup were standing on the stoves. A few of the elves looked strangely at them before resuming their work.

"This is not normal! How did you find this?"

"I have my ways, Castor."

A small house-elf with long, floppy ears came running towards the two boys, stopping just in front of them.

"It has been such a long time since a student is visiting us!" it clapped its hands joyously. "How is Floppy helping good sirs?"

"So, uh, Floppy," Harry told the elf. "I'm Harry Peverell and this is Castor Black. We'd like something to eat."

"Yes, yes! You is following Floppy!"

The elf led them to a small table in one corner of the kitchen and once they were seated, he brought back a tray laden with sausages, eggs and toast, along with a pitcher of pumpkin juice, placing it on the table. Once Harry had assured the enthusiastic elf that they would manage without him, Floppy went off to work.

"What do you think?" Harry asked his friend.

"I- I- let's eat."

The next few minutes were spent stuffing their stomachs with food. They didn't say a word to each other since they didn't have time to use their tongue for anything other than eating. Once they were done, they patted their stomachs affectionately. Castor asked Harry what Hermione Granger was doing sitting with him.

"Oh, nothing. She just wants to duel me."

"So she's signed up for the club, too? No matter, you'll wipe the floor with her."

"Funny," Harry commented. "That's exactly what she said she'd do to me."

"One of you is gonna be wrong."

"I guess. Hey, what's the time?"

"Why, it's- Oh, damn. We're late. Come on."

Harry moaned, "Not again!"

* * *

_Thanks to everyone who added the story to their alerts and favourites. It makes me a happy author. And as usual, please review._


	8. A Spark

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

_Also, Hermione is almost eighteen. She was born in the year before Harry and Ron i.e 1979, not 1980._

* * *

If you were looking for Harry Peverell in the late afternoon on Tuesday that week, you would do well to look in the library. Currently sitting at a table by a window, Harry was busy looking up information about Lethifolds. He had figured that since he already knew enough about Dementors and Patronuses, he would do well to read up on what was probably the next topic that they would cover. Although there were no reports of any Dark wizard ever using one of them for their own purposes, they were considered dangerous enough to warrant a mention in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Lethifolds or Living Shrouds were man-eating magical creatures that resembled cloaks in appearance. Gliding at night, one would come come and smother its victims before consuming them. This would have been enough to make Harry stop sleeping at night, but fortunately for him, they were only found in the tropical regions and a Lethifold had not been sighted in Britain for several hundred years. A Patronus was the only confirmed form of defence against these carnivores, which doubled the importance of the charm in Harry's eyes. Even though he was quite proficient at that spell, he still didn't fancy meeting a Lethifold any time soon. _Or anytime else._

At the bottom of the page was a footnote that caught Harry's attention.

_"Newt Scamander, renowned author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, has speculated about the possible use of an extremely strong fire spell as a weapon against the Lethifold due to fire representing light, the opposite of a Lethifold's preferred time of day, night. It is to be kept in mind, though, that this remains mere speculation and has never been tested."_

_Fire? Surely there must be someone who's tried fire against them! _Harry wondered. Scamander's theory was not implausible - there were several creatures that had been known to fear fire, none more so than the dreaded Inferi, dwellers of the dark. But even they had been known to overcome 'weak' fires. Dumbledore's words from the night in a certain cave echoed in Harry's mind:_ "Like many creatures that dwell in cold and darkness, they fear light and warmth, which we shall therefore call to our aid should the need arise. Fire, Harry."_

Scamander had mentioned an extremely strong fire spell, which meant that an ordinary spell, for example Incendio, would be of no use. Harry closed his eyes, thinking back to the night in the cave, thinking back to the lake, thinking back to the horcrux and the Inferi. A shiver ran down his spine has he recalled the reanimated corpses dragging him towards the lake. What had happened after that? In his mind's eyes, Harry could see something crimson. Massive flames encircling Harry and Dumbledore. A raging inferno that drove back the Inferi, incinerating many of them as they lunged for the safety of the lake, which, too, was covered in golden flames.

He remembered being awed by the sheer power that emanated from the weakened headmaster. Just what was that man capable of at his peak? People often talked of the duel between him and Grindelwald as the greatest wizarding duel ever. Was it possible for Harry to reach that level? Dumbledore had been a prodigy ever since the start, but here he was, just now coming to understand his own potential. Could he summon such a conflagration to roast a Lethifold to death? There was only one way to know.

Harry slammed the copy of 'Creatures - A Supplementary Guide to N.E.W.T Care of Magical Creatures'. _Who the hell would care for a Lethifold?_ Glad that he was not taking that subject, Harry placed the book in its designated spot and headed over to the garrulous librarian, Madam Pince, who was busy berating a girl and a boy for using the library, a sacred place in her eyes, as a kissing spot. When she saw Harry approaching, she signaled the couple to leave the library, saying something about talking to them later.

"Er, Madam Pince, where can I find books dedicated to fire spells?" he asked the austere woman.

"Name?"

"Peverell, Seventh Year."

"There isn't any book dedicated to the teaching of fire spells, but you'll find 'Elementary Elemental Spells' in the third aisle's middle shelf," she pointed.

"Thank you," Harry hastily expressed his gratitude, before going off to the aisle.

Harry looked at all the titles but he didn't find the book he was looking for. _Wait, there it is._ Someone had put it in the shelf below the middle one. Merlin help the kid who did that if Madam Pince found out who it was. It was a relatively thin paperback with a lime green cover. 'Elementary Elemental Spells' was written on the cover in bold black letters.

Without heading over to his seat, Harry began going through the contents before flipping over to the chapter on fire spells. _The Fire-Making Spell, the Conflagration Spell, the Warming Spell, Bluebell Flames, what the hell is this?_ All these were fairly basic spells and were nothing compared to what he was looking for. Disappointed, he placed the book in the spot where it should have been. He threw a quick glance over the other titles to find something similar. When he found nothing, he headed back to Madam Pince.

"Excuse me, Madam Pince. Aren't there books on more advanced forms of fire magic?"

Harry saw curiosity etched across her face and he thanked Merlin when she didn't ask him why he was looking for such a book. Instead, she asked, "You're a Seventh Year, right?"

He replied in the affirmative.

She pointed towards the Restricted Section and told him in a stern voice, "Then you don't need permission to go in there as long you don't borrow anything. Since you were kind enough to place both the books you looked at into their proper places, I'll tell you the name of one book. Go look at 'Incinerated: The Power of Fire'. Now let me work."

With a quick word of gratitude, Harry headed over to the Restricted Section. He closed the door behind him and looked around. The only other occupant of the room was a girl who was poring over a thick book. She looked up to see who had entered and then resumed her reading. Harry ran his fingers over the books beginning with 'I' until he found it. 'Incinerated' was a medium-sized book, bound in red leather with the name embossed on the cover in gold lettering. The boy took a seat and opened it to the first page.

It began with a history of fire, something that Harry was sure he didn't want to know. Why anybody cared how fire was discovered was beyond his comprehension. It was discovered - that was enough for him. Going through the pages, the boy wondered why this book was placed in the Restricted Section. Sure, there were several advanced spells, but that didn't justify its placement. But he quickly changed his mind when he came to the chapter titled 'Fiendfyre'.

_"Perhaps the most deadly of all fire-based magic, Fiendfyre or cursed fire is an uncontrollable inferno that cannot be doused without the use of its specific counterspell."  
_

He ran his eyes over the rest of the text. There was information on what conditions were required to cast the spell, but the book did not specify the incantation. There were details on how to counter it though. According to the book, there were only two ways to put it out: the use of the counterspell by the person who cast it, or by letting it burn itself the fire, though, was possible. 'Aqua Anulus', if used by a sufficiently powerful person, could conjure a sphere of water that could contain the flames within itself before they could spread. All that had to be done then was to wait for the flames to die out. Casting the spell and then maintaining the ring was considered to be incredibly draining though.

As useful as this information was, Harry was not bothered by it right now and he flipped over to the next chapter - 'The Firestorm'.

_"The Firestorm is, as the name suggests, a storm of flames. Quite similar to Fiendfyre, the Firestorm is made of a ring or wall of flames strong enough to burn through most matter. What makes it superior to Fiendfyre is the fact that it can be controlled and manipulated so as to strike specific_ _targets." _

Harry almost shouted out in joy. This was it. If he was able to add this to his arsenal, he had no doubt he would be able to fight off almost anyone or anything. Going through the details, he read about how this was very advanced magic. _So is the Patronus Charm,_ he mused, smiling to himself. Grabbing his bag, he pulled out an empty roll of parchment and a Muggle pen that he had gotten from Dumbledore's office. He began scribbling things that he thought important.  
_'Infernus Tempesta' _was the spell, but merely saying it wasn't enough. There had to be power behind the spell, true strength. It wasn't something you learnt on your first try.

Once he was done jotting down everything, Harry closed the book and gently placed it back into its space, making sure not to scratch its binding. Satisfied, he took his bag and left the Restricted Section. On his way out, he passed the librarian, who looked up at him with a look that asked him whether or not he had found what he was looking for. With a nod, he left.

On his way to the Common Room, Harry saw Castor Black going in the opposite direction, followed by several other students who were chatting excitedly. Curious, Harry turned around and tapped his friend on the shoulder, causing the other boy to jump.

"Harry!" he said. "So you're back from the library. How you can stay in there without going to sleep is beyond me."

"It takes practice. Where's everyone going?"

"Merlin, Harry. Don't you ever check out the noticeboards? Klein called the first meeting of the club today."

"Really?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "I must've forgotten to check the board."

"Yeah, sure," Castor waved him onwards. "Come on then."

Sighing, Harry began following the group, asking his friend where the club was going to be conducted.

"The Great Hall, of course," the boy deadpanned.

"Of course," Harry agreed.

* * *

"Welcome," announced Professor Klein in a magically amplified voice, as she entered the Hall. "To the first session of the Dueling Club for this academic year."

The Hall was arranged in a manner quite similar to how it had been back in Harry's second year. The House Tables had been pushed aside, leaving space for a blue stage in the center of the Hall, atop which the Defence professor now stood with her wand in her hand. On both ends of the stage were stairs for the duelists to use to get onto the stage. Students from fourth year and upwards from all four houses had gathered on both sides of the long stage, their attention direction at the teacher.

Harry and Castor had managed to find a place to stand right next to the stage by arriving earlier than most of the others, and they, too, were waiting of the professor to continue, which she did.

"How many new students do we have here?" she asked.

Several hands shot up, including Harry's.

"In that case, it looks like a short demonstration is in order. Let's see," she said, going through the students. "Finnegan and Smith, get up here."

Students cheered eagerly as the sandy-haired Seamus Finnegan and Dwayne Smith, the ginger whom Harry and Castor had confronted last week, got onto the stage from opposite ends with their wands in their hands. They walked towards each other, coming to a stop a few steps away from each other. The professor moved out of the way and began speaking.

"This is only a demonstration for the new students, you two. Just show them the accepted combative position and aim to disarm each other. Anything else and you'll be out. Am I clear?"

The two boys nodded amidst the groans of other students, disappointed at missing out on a proper duel. Both boys bowed to each other and lifted their wands in front of their faces, causing the room to become silent. Harry licked his lips in anticipation, silently praying that Seamus disobeyed the teacher and hit Smith with a hex. Once the boys had walked away with their backs to each other, they turned back and brandished their wands like swords.

"On the count of three," spoke the professor. "One, two, three."

"Stupefy!" cried Finnegan.

"Impedimenta!" called Smith.

Jets of green and red light emerged from their wands and flew at each other, clashing halfway. As the spells cancelled each other, Professor Klein growled, "I told you to disarm!"

"Expelliarmus!" Finnegan sent the Disarming Spell at his opponent, who conjured a shield to deflect the spell, before countering with his own Expelliarmus.

The jet of red light shot towards Seamus Finnegan, who jumped aside to dodge it. In doing so, he lost his balance. The last thing he did before another Expelliarmus from Smith knocked his wand out of his hand was to spout a few Irish curse words whose meaning was understood by no one, saving him from being scolded by the professor.

There was polite applause as Smith bowed and returned to his place, followed by Seamus. Helena Klein returned to her place at the center of the stage.

"Thank you, you two. So you've all seen how a duel is begun. You bow to each other as a sign of respect and count down to the start of the duel. To those who are new, Expelliarmus is a basic Disarming Spell. Just because it's basic, doesn't mean it isn't dead useful."

Harry smirked in his head. He knew all to well how useful the spell was.

The woman continued, "As always, I want everyone to split up into pairs according to the list that I have here and do what you're supposed to do - duel. *She raised a sheet of paper* Everyone who's new, stay here with me. We are going to start from the basics. Take this, Black."

Castor reached out to take the list from the professor and looked at it. Harry peered over his shoulder and found that his name had been added to the list, too. He didn't have to listen to the professor drone on about dueling basics! To his pleasure, Harry found that he had been paired with none other than the victor of the recent demonstration.

"Teach him some manners, Harry. I'm facing some Hufflepuff bloke called Zacharias Smith. Wanna trade?" his friend asked.

Harry shook his head. "I'd rather not."

He looked around in search of his opponent, who soon came into sight, smirking.

"So we meet again, Peverell," he said. "You're going down."

"Yes, though I can't say I'm pleased to see you."

"I'm ready when you are."

Soon, the room was full of the shouts of students as spells were thrown around. Flashes of different coloured lights flew in all directions and back again. In one corner, Castor Black and Zacharias Smith had abandoned their wands and were wrestling on the floor. In another, Hermione Granger and Everard Rookwood were sending hex after hex at each other, never managing to hit the other since their spells kept colliding with each other. Susan Bones had been hit by a Tarantallegra, causing her to tap dance across the room. Despite the chaos all around, the professor did not seem to be worried as she continued instructing the rookies in the basics of dueling.

Dwayne Smith was fuming since each of his spells was being deflected by Harry with a simple wave of his wand. Apart from a Rictusempra that had caught him unawares, Harry had not been struck by a single spell. He had yet to send a spell back at Smith, and was relishing the chance to irritate the boy further. That would only sweeten the taste of victory for him.

"What's the matter, Smith?" Harry asked in a taunting manner. "You seem to be a little rusty. Wasn't I supposed to go down?"

"At least I'm doing something!" the boy replied. "Fight, you coward! Aqua Eructo!"

For the third time in that duel, a jet of water shot out of the end of Smith's wand and hurtled towards Harry, who reacted by saying 'Impervius' and tapping his head. The stream of water, which should have drenched him, was directed to the ground as soon as it came close to him, as if an invisible barrier prevented it from reaching its target. Harry, delighted that the spell worked, sighed with relief. He had been a little scared there, remembering Hermione use it with only a small amount of success on his spectacles back in his third year.

"You asked for it!" he roared. "Engorgio Skullus!"

The Head Enlarging Hex flew towards its target in a burst of red light.

"Protego!"

Smith's shield blocked the hex from reaching its target.

Harry began spewing out spell after spell, "Stupefy! Impedimenta! Petrificus Totalus! Reducto! Expelliarmus!"

Smith's eyes widened as the five spells sailed in his direction. Seeing as he would be unable to dodge them, Smith cast the Shield Charm once again. All five of the spells made impact with his shield together, shattering it. But the shield had fulfilled its purpose and had managed to protect its caster. Taking advantage of the look of surprise on his opponent's face, Harry went in for the kill.

"Levicorpus!"

There was a flash of light and the boy was swept off his feet - literally - and hoisted into the air, slowly rising up while dangling upside-down. This had not gone unnoticed by the others and soon the room was full of howls of laughter. Castor and Zacharias Smith had even broken up their fight to see what was happening. Dwayne Smith's face was growing red, though Harry was not sure whether it was because he was embarrassed or because the blood was going towards his head. _Probably both_.

The echo of laughter had caused the professor to turn around and observe the scene. Harry was sure that he saw a smile on her face, though it was quickly replaced by a serious look.

"Alright, Peverell, get him down!" she called.

"Just a moment, Professor," Harry spoke. "Expelliarmus!"

Once Smith's wand was safely clasped in his left hand, he lowered the dangling boy and uttered the counterspell, "Liberacorpus."

Harry's opponent crumpled to a heap on the floor, his face flushed. As soon as he had been brought down, someone called out, "Stupefy!" Once again, chaos broke out as everyone resumed their duels. Professor Klein motioned Harry to come over. Tossing the wand in his hand back to its owner, he went over to the professor, cautiously making his way between the dueling students.

"That's right, Mr. Belby," the professor complimented a student's stance before turning to Harry. "You certainly have an affinity for attracting attention, Mr. Peverell."

"I'm not in trouble, am I?" asked Harry.

"Of course not, what you did wasn't out of bounds...I think. I don't think I've heard of that spell. What did you use on Smith?"

"Levicorpus."

She nodded, "That's the first time I've heard of it. How did you learn it?"

Harry quickly made up an answer, "It was made by a friend of mine. He was good at this stuff, making new spells."

That wasn't entirely false. Severus Snape may not have been a friend of Harry's, but there was no way that he could deny that the man was a master when it came to inventing new techniques, whether they be spells, potions or, as he had learned from the Pensieve, spying methods.

"It dangles the user upside down. That's it?"

"That's right."

"You learn something new everyday," she remarked. "I knew having you here would be a good idea."

"Professor, something's bothering me."

"What is it?"

"Shouldn't there be someone watching over all these people? It's absolute pandemonium."

"Oh, we tried that a few years ago. Never works. All hell eventually breaks loose. If you think about it, this could actually be beneficial for them. If you ever have to take part in a duel in the midst of a war, for example, there wouldn't be any formalities, would there? Spells would be thrown all around you, leaving you facing not only your opponent but those spells, too."

"I get it," answered Harry, admitting it was a good way to get some practice in for a real fight. "But that doesn't explain why Castor and that Zacharias bloke are wrestling each other."

"What?" her smile vanished. "They're at it again? I should have known not to put them together after last year. Where are they?"

"Somewhere on the floor."

"I can't see them from here. Ah, there they are. Oi, you two, break it up!" she stomped off towards the pair, leaving Harry behind.

Suppressing a yawn, he surveyed the scene before him. By now, most duels had been decided. Everywhere around him, people were dusting themselves and shaking hands. A few pairs were still at it. Harry focused on Hermione Granger and Everard Rookwood. They were trading spells like equals, each trying to gain the upper hand to no success. They were not even using Shield Charms, preferring to merely step out of the path of the oncoming spell. Tearing his gaze from the two, Harry was turning to leave when he once again returned his gaze to them once he saw Granger make a quick twirling motion with her wand. A black bolt of lightning burst from her wand and hit Rookwood square in the chest.

For a second, the boy froze with his wand directed at his opponent. Black streaks swirled around him and then he fell to his knees, panting. With a quick disarming spell, the girl caught his wand and smirked at the defeated boy. Harry bit his lip. _That was certainly new. Did she learn that from that book of hers?_ From what he had just seen, the boy concluded that the spell was some sort of energy drainer. Rookwood, who had been matching Hermione step for step a few seconds ago, was now on his knees, breathing hard. Was the spell unblockable or had Rookwood been too slow? All of a sudden, Harry looked forward to facing the girl.

Soon, the professor made her way back to the stage and in announced in her amplified voice that enough was enough. "That's it for today. Good work there - no one's had to visit the Hospital Wing."

In order to avoid getting caught up in the crowd of students that would soon be heading for the door, Harry hastily made his way out of the Hall. Pulling his watch from the pocket of his robes, he noted the time. It was almost six. There wasn't any place that he had to be, which meant that he was free to finally try out what he had been planning before he had been pulled into the club meeting.

"Nice going there, Peverell," Harry heard Seamus Finnegan call out to him as he left the Hall.

"Thanks...I guess," he nodded.

Smith must really be unpopular if a Gryffindor was commending him on embarrassing a Gryffindor. Either that, or Finnegan just wanted someone to take revenge for him. Harry set off to the only place in the whole castle that could provide him with what he needed.

* * *

_'I need a place to practice spells, a place that no one else can get into'_ Harry repeated in his mind as he paced in front of the wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy on the seventh floor, waiting for the Room of Requirement to materialise. He had to walk past it six times, instead of the usual three, but the Room finally responded to his call, revealing its entrance. _Finally!_ He entered and closed the door behind him, hearing it lock itself.

It was the same room as the one that Dumbledore's Army had used. There were dummies scattered around, waiting to be attacked. The ground was made of concrete except in the places where there were grills on the floor. Harry didn't bother checking out what was underneath them. There were no windows and the light was provided by several lamps hanging on the walls. A fire was burning in the fireplace, spreading sweet-smelling fumes everywhere. But there were no books, unlike the time with Dumbledore's Army. He was pretty sure that the Room had provided them with books. Maybe he would have to ask for them the next time he came.

Once he had fished out the parchment he had scribbled on in the library from his bag, he drew his wand from the pocket of his robes. The wand movement was relatively simple, if not a little silly - an overhead, sweeping motion. As he tried it, Harry was sure that if anyone had been around to see him, they would think he was crazy. It wouldn't look bad if he was surrounded by a ring of fire though, would it?

With his eyes closed, Harry concentrated, trying to tap into his magic. It was a bit like racking his brain for the answer to a History of Magic question that he never learned in the first place. There was nothing - no feeling of euphoria and no rush of magic. Slightly disappointed, he raised his wand and focused his magic.

"Infernus Tempesta!"

_That was anticlimatic,_ he mused. Nothing had happened. Forget a firestorm, he had been unable to manage a spark! To make sure that his magic was working properly, he pointed the Elder Wand at one of the dummies and whispered, "Reducto!"

The dummy disintegrated dust that fell to the ground.

"Incendio!"

Another of the dummies was engulfed in flames for a split second before the fire vanished since the dummies were made of stone and would no catch fire. But it had been enough to prove that his magic was indeed working properly. Maybe the spell he was learning was just too advanced. Hadn't that been the matter with the Patronus Charm, too? _It'll take time._

Once again, he made an effort to direct all his magic towards his wand. The swung his wand over his head and yelled the incantation. When there was nothing, he began shouting the name of the spell repeatedly to no effect.

"Infernus Tempesta! Infernus Tempesta! Infernus Tempesta!"

Although he knew not to get so worked up over a new spell, he couldn't help it. It made him feel helpless. Many times he had had nightmares in which he faced Voldemort but ended up losing just because his spells didn't work for him. Taking deep breaths to calm himself, he directed his attention to the other stone figures around him.

"Bombarda!"

One of them exploded with a bang. He moved to another one.

"Confringo!"

Another exploded with a louder bang.

"Stupefy!"

The Stunning Spell smashed into a dummy, slightly chipping it. Apart from that, there was nothing special since the dummy, being insentient, could not be stunned.

In the next five minutes, Harry had run through each and every one of the statues, reducing them to dust in the end. _That felt good._ The freedom he felt when destroying things so recklessly could not be explained. Destruction was, after all, a form of creation. He still didn't feel tired. On the contrary, he felt better than before. He swept his wand over his head and shouted out loud.

"Infernus Tempesta!"

He felt something run up his arm, and his wand felt warmer than before. Despite this, he was unable to see any spark or fire. That didn't matter though. The truth was that he had felt something. Maybe he felt better after blasting all the statues because it served as a kind of warm-up for more serious magic. That might be it. Come to think of it, the Patronus had also been summoned under trying circumstances. He had just been chased by a werewolf, for Merlin's sake!

If that was the case, he would need to exert himself harder than before. To be honest, Smith had not been much of a challenge. If he had been paired with a more talented duelist, he might have expended enough energy to access his deeper magical reserves. Alas! He would need more dummies if he intended on getting this done quickly. Or he could simply repair them.

"Reparo!"

The mounds of dust on the floor began to rise, joining together and taking the shape of dummies once again. It was a job well done, if he said so himself. Now Harry was again surrounded by several statues at which he hurled hex after hex, jinx after jinx and curse after curse. Every time he finished, he repaired the models to start again until he felt that he had had enough and anymore attempts would only leave him too tired to train.

Harry made a swirling gesture over his head before calling out of the name of the spell once again.

"Infernus Tempesta!"

The Elder Wand grew warm once again. Harry looked up, concentrating harder than ever in an effort to produce something. His muscles tensed so much that he was sure that if they got any tighter, the tendons would simply break.

Crack!

A small spark burst from the tip of his wand. Harry couldn't help but laughing. It was just too funny. Here he was working his butt off in an effort to bring forth a wall of fire, but he had ended up creating a spark. Even though it had lasted only for a few seconds, it made him feel better because it was progress, after all. A few more tries like that and he might be able to produce a fire like the one in the fireplace. But now was not the time for that. He was saturated. Perhaps tomorrow he would try again. Right now, no.

He stowed his wand in his pocket and unlocked the door of the Room of Requirement after taking a peek through the peephole to make sure to ensure that there was no one to see him leave the room. Once he was sure that there was no one outside, he took his bag and left the Room.

* * *

"Look who it is!" Castor exclaimed when Harry entered the Common Room after a short trip from the washroom where he had freshened up, washing the sweat away.

"Who is it?" Harry asked, joining him on one of the sofas, avoiding looking at the the others.

"Why, it's you, of course! Where have you been?"

"Around. Why?"

"Must you be so cryptic? I wanted to ask about the Dueling Club."

"Oh, yeah. That reminds me. Why were you wrestling with Smith?"

"He annoys me," Castor succinctly expressed.

"That makes complete sense. He looks like someone who'd get on your nerves."

Harry had never liked the Zacharias Smith he'd known. Not only was he extremely critical of Gryffindors, but he had possessed none of the characteristics that were preferred by Hufflepuff. He had shown his 'loyalty' when he had refused to fight during in the Battle of Hogwarts, choosing to flee. The only reason he was in Hufflepuff was because its founder had said that she'd 'take the rest'. None of the other houses suited him.

"What did Professor Klein do?" Harry asked.

"Nothing really. Took a few points and reminded us of last year when we broke each other's jaws."

"How you became a prefect is something I'll never understand," admitted Harry.

Ruffling his hair, the other boy said, "That's one of life's biggest mysteries. So tell me, what did you do to the other Smith?"

"That's what the professor asked me. It's called 'Levicorpus'. It hangs people upside-down."

"Sounds rather unpleasant for the victim. Imagine the humiliation."

"I think Smith could tell you about that," grinned Harry.

"Where did you learn it? If Klein didn't know about it, then that must mean that it's not very well known. You didn't create it, did you?"

"Close," said Harry. "It was a friend of mine."

"I see. I'd like to do that sometime, create my own spell."

"I don't think it'll be easy."

"This friend of yours did it, didn't he?"

"He was, er, exceptional when it came to such things."

"So I'm just some idiot, am I?" Castor asked, feigning hurt.

"I don't know about that. You just seem to be rather laid-back."

"You're probably right. I'm too lazy."

Changing the topic, Harry asked, "Did you see Granger and Rookwood's duel?"

"Yeah, I was watching it while Klein scolded us. I can't be expected to listen to her ramble on and on about dueling etiquette now, can I?"

"Nope. Did you see that spell Granger ended the duel with? The one like black lightning?"

"Sure, that was the Debilitating Curse, a rather basic Dark spell that drains the target's energy and gives part of it to the user," his friend told him.

_So I was right. It must have been from that book._ "But aren't Dark spellbooks not allowed?"

"First, Harry, my boy, they aren't exactly banned. But yes, getting caught with one might be bad for you. It depends on who catches you, I guess. Secondly, she wouldn't have needed a book to learn that spell. It's fairly basic, as I said. Every pure-blood knows magic like that and it's allowed in duels."

Frowning, Harry asked, "Then why was Rookwood unable to counter?"

"She caught him by surprise, I think. If he wasn't surprised, then he's an idiot. A simple Shield Charm would have blocked that."

That cleared it up for Harry. The spell was blockable. The prospect of facing an unblockable energy-draining spell was not a pleasing one, to be honest.

"What about you, Castor? Know any Dark spells?"

"One or two. Never really found them interesting."

"Oh..."

The pair sat quietly for a while. Harry's eyes wandered around aimlessly. He would have fallen asleep had it not been for Castor saying something to him again.

"Hey, Harry. How do you cast a Patronus?"

"Expecto Patronum."

"Very funny."

Sitting up straight, Harry explained, "You need to have a happy memory in your mind."

"I know that. It doesn't work. I've managed to get the mist, but I can't get it to go further."

"You've managed to get the fog in a day! That itself is impressive, you know."

"No it's not," Castor argued. "Look at your stag. That's impressive. Besides, you heard Klein. A fog isn't much help against a Dementor."

"Quite whining."

"You're no help, Harry."

"What can I do?!" Harry asked, exasperated.

"Give me some tips."

"Fine. Er, what memory do you have in your mind?"

"The day I set fire to the kitchen at home."

"How in the world is that happy?"

"That was the day I realised that I was a wizard. I was nearly eleven and Dad had me pegged as a Squib."

After some thinking, Harry spoke, "I think that memory's powerful enough since you did manage the fog. These things take time."

"When did you summon the stag the first time?" Castor asked, abruptly.

Harry gulped. Saying 'a hundred Dementors were approaching to suck mine and my godfather's souls' was not going to cut it. He racked his brain for a plausible story.

"I confronted a Boggart. I- I sneaked into the Defence classroom to have a go at it. Since there wasn't anyone around who could save me if I failed to defend myself, you could call it a life or death situation. I was close to fainting, and then it just happened. I cast the spell, expecting fog. Instead, the stag erupted and forced the Dementor-Boggart back into its cupboard. So, uh, yeah. That's it. No summoning the stag to save someone's life. Sorry to disappoint you." _Please buy it, please buy it._

After looking incredulously at Harry, the other boy finally said, "Shame my Boggart's not a Dementor, or we could have sneaked into Klein's office."

_YES!_ "A shame, truly!" Harry empathised.

"You know what? Forget this!" his friend said, stowing his wand into his bag. "It's almost time for supper."

* * *

Harry lay in bed with the curtains closed around him, watching reruns of the day in his head. He would try again tomorrow. No matter how long it took, he would learn the Firestorm spell. It wasn't a matter of defending himself anymore. The spell was a challenge. If he didn't master it, he would be haunted by nightmares of the spell jeering at him. He had started something and, by Merlin's baggiest pants, he would go through with it.

Using a pillow to drown out Rookwood's snores that permeated even the curtain around his four-poster bed, Harry lay still until sleep claimed him.

* * *

_That's it for now, folks. _


	9. Arania Exumai

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

_To the question about why it was only the Elder Wand that followed Harry, the wand was what opened the 'portal' to the other world since it was being made to kill the master it couldn't kill, which set up a sort of paradox. The Stone and Cloak didn't have any part to play in that and therefore didn't come along with Harry since he didn't have hold of them at the moment.  
_

_As for Voldemort, I do not plan on introducing him right now.  
_

* * *

_(Monday, the next week)_

"Reducto!"

The remains of the final dummy fell through the grill on the floor. Harry wiped the sweat off his eyebrows, taking in his surroundings. Whatever figures remained were either broken or overturned. _And that's number one hundred._ The room was a mess. It was as simple as that. Unlike the first time he had come here, the Room of Requirement had provided him with more practice dummies - something he was thankful for. Having to repeatedly repair them would be too cumbersome.

His heart was thumping and his breathing was rapid. In most circumstances, casting Reductors and Stunners wouldn't have been a demanding task. This time, though, Harry had decided to pretend that he was being attacked from all sides as he rapidly jumped, ducked and rolled to avoid imaginary spells. He was more physically drained than magically.

Sitting with his legs crossed, Harry stared into the fireplace, watching the yellow flames consume the logs, all the while turning the Elder Wand in between his fingers. For the past half hour, he had been in the Room of Requirement, attempting to learn the Firestorm spell. He had been unable to achieve anything. Even the spark that he had managed over the last week refused to appear.

Sooner or later, someone was bound to notice a pattern in his absence. _Castor's already done that._ The boy had asked him several times where he would run off to, to which Harry would reply that he had been in Dumbledore's office because the headmaster wanted to see if he was doing well in Hogwarts, or because there were some 'family problems' that needed to be sorted out. Although these excuses had worked for now, there was no way that he would be able to use them repeatedly. Revealing the Room of Requirement to his friend was a thought that had crossed his mind once or twice. But then again, did he really wanted to give away the location of the one place in the whole castle where he was guaranteed privacy? _Nah._

There was no use pondering over it right now because there was work to do and a Firestorm to be learned. Having caught his breath, Harry stood up, his wand tightly gripped in his hand. Tensing his muscles, he raised the wand over his head and moved it in a circle. Hoping for the best, he pronounced the incantation: "Infernus Tempesta!"

A sensation of warmth traveled up his arm, into his wand, which also grew warmer. He clenched his teeth, trying to force his magic through the Elder Wand. Dumbledore had used this very wand for this very spell. If the old man could cast the spell, Harry could, too. The tip of the wand began to twinkle, the light growing brighter. Something small and bright shot up into the air. Harry was so astounded that it was almost too late before he realised that it was a diminutive ball of fire.

He jumped backwards as he tried to get out of the path of the small fireball, which had started to fall back down. He fell on his bottom, his legs wide open. The fireball hit the floor between his legs. _That was close,_ he thought as he examined the seared patch on the floor. That could have been him if he hadn't gotten out of the way. The fireball was certainly an improvement over his other attempts. Now the thought of mastering the spell exhilarated him even more.

Then Harry had an idea. Pointing his wand at one of the broken statues and muttered, "Reparo."

Once the dummy had reformed itself, the boy went over to it, examining it from all sides. It looked pretty sturdy. By what he had seen on Tuesday last week, it could not be damaged by fire. With a quick 'Incendio', he ascertained this. Yellow flames erupted around the dummy for a second before fading away, leaving it unscathed. Sweeping his wand over his head before pointing it at the target, he cast the Firestorm spell. Again, a small ball of fire appeared from his wand and sailed towards the dummy.

Even though he had hoped that this would happen, Harry could not help but be amazed at the sight of the dummy's head being charred. The book had been right - the fire really could destroy a lot of things if it had been able to partially burn stone, something that, to Harry's best knowledge, should have remained unscathed.

The boy's stomach grumbled. His watch told him that it was almost time for lunch. Grabbing his wand, he turned to leave the Room, but a mirror hanging on the wall caught his eye. He stumbled over to see how messy he looked. Drenched in sweat, his image stared back at him. _I might need to go clean myself up. _

* * *

Having washed his face, Harry entered the Great Hall and looked around. The benches were crowded and there was barely any space for Harry to sit. He forced himself in between two First Years. First Years, he had found, were more accepting of him. Whether it was because their minds had not yet been consumed by prejudice, or because they were too scared to say anything to a Seventh Year's face, was debatable. He could not find his one friend anywhere.

Once he was full, Harry decided that a trip to the great outdoors was not a bad idea. The smell of grass filled his nostrils as he left the castle. Grateful that the timetable was changed every week, and that half his day today was free, Harry made his way to the other side, breaking up several kissing couples on his way. From where the ground began to slope, Harry caught sight of the place where Hagrid's cabin stood. _That's not Hagrid's!_ Although it was the same hut, it was occupied by Stanton Eldridge, the current groundskeeper, a stout, stern-faced fellow.

Next to the hut was a patch of pumpkins, just like Hagrid's. But the pumpkins were not what caught Harry's attention, it was the group of students that had assembled near it, headed by the Care of Magical Creatures professor. Professor Dalton Diggory was a mountain of a man with a bushy mustache under his hooked nose. The light reflecting off his bald head threatened to blind Harry. From what Castor had told Harry, the man really loved dangerous creatures. The burly man had his hand over a piece of white cloth.

Curious, Harry descended the stairs that led down, careful not to slip and trip. If the professor had noticed his presence, he had decided to ignore Harry because the man kept talking to the class. By Harry's count, there were six girls and ten boys gathered around the cloth, which, Harry saw now, was placed over something cuboidal.

"Have I got a treat for you," the professor was saying in a high-pitched voice that did not suit his appearance. "Now that we've covered the textbook section, I thought that we'd have some hands-on experience with these."

He petted the cloth affectionately. Whatever it was underneath it, rattled. Harry was sure that he saw the class get tense and move a few steps back. Using a pumpkin as a seat, the boy craned his neck to catch sight of what it was. _Hey, there's Castor._ His friend was standing in the center of the group, and he, too, was stepping backwards. Finally, the professor pulled the sheet off.

Acromantulas. Two of them, staring at the class through the bars of a cage through eight eyes each. Their bodies were covered in hair and when they opened their mouth, Harry caught sight of pointed fangs. The two had begun to click their pincers, signaling excitement. _They do look hungry. Must be excited at the sight of so many humans to eat. _Whatever made the man open the cage, Harry would never understand.

Diggory dragged one out with a leash and showed it to the class, pulling it around. _I'm pretty sure that he should have locked the cage again._ Everywhere the professor went, students fell back, until the small circle had grown twice as wide.

"These two aren't fully grown yet, so their venom isn't fatal, though it will knock you out for a few hours, just like a Mandrake's screams," the professor told the class, before finally directing his attention at Harry. "You there, boy. What's your name?"

"Peverell, sir," Harry answered, jerking to attention.

"So, Peverell, you look pretty interested in this. Why don't you come over and have a closer look? Show everyone how it's done?"

"Excuse me?" Harry's eyes widened.

"You heard me! Come on."

The man was insane, Harry concluded. He was having an untrained student come over and examine an Acromantula closely. What if the blasted creature decided that Harry was a tasty snack? If that happened and he died, Harry swore to come back as a ghost and haunt Diggory. Reluctantly, he left his place on the pumpkin and inched towards the giant spider, which had begun to click its pincers even louder.

"That's right. It won't say anything if it's leashed."

Slightly encouraged by this, Harry came closer and reached out. The beast had begun to open its mouth, but closed it immediately when the professor gave it a slight kick on the back. Feeling the eyes of every student on him, Harry bit his lip and reached out to the spider. He cringed as he felt the hair beneath his fingertips. _Must wash._ To his surprise, the spider did not attempt to bite off his hand. It was probably afraid of what Diggory might do to it if it showed any signs of belligerence.

Someone screamed.

Harry jumped up. The sudden burst of activity had shocked the Acromantula, which tried to break away with such strength that it managed to pull the professor along with it. Harry turned to see what was going on. He gasped. The second Acromantula had left its cage and was sneaking up behind Castor Black, whose eyes had been fixed on Harry and the other spider. But as he saw everyone look at him, or behind him, he was shaken out of his stupor. Although he managed to look behind him, he was not quick enough to jump out of the way of the oncoming beast, and fell on his face. His wand, which had been knocked out of his hand, broke with a snap.

As the boy tried to scramble away, Harry looked around to see the professor wrestling with the other spider. _Should've locked the darn cage! _Instinctively, Harry pulled out the Elder Wand and pointed it in the direction of the spider, which had leapt into the air towards Castor.

"Arania Exumai!" he cried.

A jet of white light shot towards the spider, blasting it into a tree at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Incarcerous!"

Harry saw the professor cast the Binding Spell at the Acromantula that Harry had just banished. Ropes appeared out of thin air and wrapped themselves around the target. The other spider lay at Diggory's feet, also bound in ropes. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the professor returned both creatures to their prison. Castor, on the other hand, was just getting up with the pieces of his wand in his hand, looking at them in disbelief. The rest of the students came closer to see if he was okay.

Harry felt himself choke as the professor thumped him on the back. "That there was something, lad. First time I've seen a student pat an Acromantula. The way you banished that thing, shame you're in this class."

_Yes, a real shame._ "Er, right. Thanks, Professor. If you don't mind my saying this, you should have locked the door of the cage."

"You're right there," he nodded his head, solemnly. "That was my mistake. Now I remember! You're that transfer student. Klein and Runcorn can't seem to shut up when it comes to you."

"Is that so?"

"Mhm."

"I'll be going then, Professor. I need to complete my homework. I just came out for some fresh air. It was nice meeting you." _I need to purge my hands._

Just as Diggory began talking about the use of Arania Exumai, Harry gave the his unfortunate friend one last look and began to make his way back to the castle, feeling sorry for Castor. He recalled how much trouble Ron had had with his broken wand during their second year. There was no way to fix a broken wand, was there? _Maybe, just maybe..._ He would have to meet Castor as soon as he got the time.

* * *

Sitting by the fire in the Common Room, Harry ran his fingers over the ancient Elder Wand. The carvings of elderberries along its length gave it an appearance quite distinctive from other wands. At the same time, images of his first wand flashed in his mind. Although he missed it, there was no doubt that the Elder Wand worked better for him than the phoenix feather wand ever had. Besides, a proper wand was to be preferred over a broken wand that lay somewhere in another world.

If he was right, this wand, this so-called unbeatable wand, would be able to repair broken wands. After all, wasn't this wand supposed to be capable of feats of magic that would otherwise have been impossible?

The Common Room, which had been empty up till now, echoed with footsteps. The boy turned around to find his friend entering, looking very despondent. Harry waved at him and received a grave nod in return. Castor Black headed to the dormitory, leaving Harry alone. Sighing, Harry got up and followed him silently.

The door of the Seventh Years' dormitory was ajar. Peeping through the gap, Harry saw the other boy sitting on his bed, holding up a roll of Spello-tape, trying to find the edge of the roll. Harry pushed the door open and entered. Not looking up as he wrapped the tape around the pieces of his damaged wand, Castor said in a low voice, "Thanks."

Taking a seat on his own bed, Harry replied, "It's not big deal. Diggory shouldn't have left the door unlocked."

"Mistakes happen, I guess."

"They do."

"That was some quick thinking there, though. I might've been done for."

"You would only have been knocked out."

"Still..."

For a minute, there was no sound apart from that of the tape being rolled and cut. Without a word, Harry stared at his friend, who was looking for something he could test his wand on. When he found nothing, he simply cast Lumos. A weak glow emanated from the tip of his taped wand, but it wouldn't be of much use in the dark. Frowning, Castor grabbed a cup from his nightstand and threw it to the floor, shattering it.

"Reparo."

The pieces twitched, rose into the air and then fell back down. Groaning, Castor opened his bag to pull out a quill, an inkwell and a roll of parchment. Before he could open the pot of ink, Harry spoke up at last.

"What are you going to do with that?"

His friend finally looked up at him. "I'm gonna write to my father to ask him for a spare wand which I can use until I return home. This one is trash now."

"How do you know a spare will work for you?"

"I don't. But anything's better than this."

"Have you tried fixing it with magic?"

"Yeah, this Hufflepuff guy offered to help after class was over. Didn't work."

"Have you tried getting a teacher to fix it?" Harry asked.

The other boy shook his head. "Diggory told me that you can't fix it with magic. Didn't even try."

Harry edged forward. "Um, how about I have a go?"

"Go ahead, it's yours."

Harry caught the wand in his left hand. He unwound the tape and found the two pieces to be severed almost completely, held together only by what looked like a thick, brown thread.

"Dragon heartstring, willow, ten inches, if you want to know," Castor added, writing something on the parchment.

Harry placed the broken wand on his mattress and drew out his own wand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Castor had stopped writing and was staring at Harry. Taking a deep breath, he waved the wand and whispered, "Reparo."

The effect was instant. Castor jumped up with a cry of exultation. Both pieces of wood snapped together and resealed. Harry picked it up and after examining it as thoroughly as he could, threw it to its owner. A shower of silver stars came burst forth from the wand as it reunited with its owner, who was brimming with elation.

"Merlin, Harry!" he exclaimed. "Wait till Diggory hears about this."

Harry shook his head quickly. "Hey, hey! Why don't we keep this between us? No one needs to know."

"Why not?" the boy asked, puzzled.

"It's hard to explain...It isn't something that everyone can do. Fixing wands is, er, terribly tricky business."

"That makes it even more amazing, doesn't it?"

"Just - just keep it to yourself."

Castor frowned. "What do I say to anyone who asks me how I got this?"

"Dumbledore fixed it for you. I bet he could do it, too."

"Whatever you say, Harry. Thanks. I owe you two."

"It's alright," Harry waved it away.

"You fixed a broken wand!"

"I said it's alright."

"Anyway, I won't be needing this now," Castor said as he tore the letter he had begun writing. "Now that we're alone, why don't you check this out? Expecto Patronum!"

Something four-legged erupted out from his newly-repaired wand, radiating light. It began running around the room, jumping from bed to bed. It was only when it came to a halt before the wizard who had cast it, that Harry realised what it was. A dog. A large, shaggy dog, to be more exact. A dog that reminded Harry of-

"Uncle Sirius," Castor said, a hint of sadness apparent in his voice. "He was an Animagus. A dog. I bet it's because of him that my Patronus is a dog."

Not sure as to what he should say, Harry simply told him, "You did it! Well done!"

"Took me a week, but I think it's perfect," he said as the dog vanished into nothingness.

"Oh, yeah?" Harry teased. "I'd like to see you try that in front of a real Dementor."

"Of course. Just like you've done?"

"No, no. It was just a Boggart. Still, I did manage to defeat it, didn't I? Imagine running towards a hundred Dementors, thinking that you'll smite them good, only to discover that your Patronus isn't working."

In a mildly irritated tone, the other boy said, "Quit being a killjoy!"

Raising his hands, Harry said, "Fine! Fine!"

"Hey, when did you learn to fight an Acromantula?"

"In second year. I saw this older boy attack one with Arania Exumai."

That was completely true. He had learnt the spell in his second year. This 'older boy' was none other than Tom Marvolo Riddle, future Lord Voldemort, who had used the spell on Hagrid's pet Acromantula, Aragog.

"That's it? You saw someone use it? What if it didn't work today?"

"Relax. I practiced." _Practiced on the family of the pet Acromantula of a half-giant._

* * *

The next day, once classes were over, Harry returned to the library. After a short trip to the Room of Requirement, he had discovered that his fireball had gotten bigger, quite bigger, in a day. Pleased with his progress, he had decided that a trip to the library was in order before he went for the Dueling Club's second meeting, which was scheduled to take place at eight p.m.

Despite this being only the second time that he had visited the Restricted Section (without the need for a teacher's note), he had grown rather fond of this place. In a strange way, it made him feel safe. The idea of being surrounded by so many spells was comforting. Within these book was the knowledge that was required to defeat almost anything, he believed. _Maybe that's why Hermione loved books._

Currently, he was poring over _Advanced Defence: Where Shield Charms Fail_. One of the worst things that could happen in a duel was the failing of your Shield Charm. They were breakable, as his duel with Dwayne Smith had demonstrated, if attacked with enough force. So far, he had read about several alternative defences, and was mulling over which one to learn. There was the fire shield that could absorb most fire spells, and there was the water shield that could do the same when it came to water spells. Every spell that he had so far come across had he same limitation - it was effective against only one type of offensive spells.

Harry flipped over to the next page.

_"Known merely as the Silver Shield, this is a form of defensive conjuration. The Shield, unlike other defensive charms, is a form of defense against both physical and magical attacks. The drawback of the Silver Shield is that since it is physically brought before the caster, it cannot be easily moved. For example, the caster might conjure the Shield to protect himself from a foe in front of him, but he will be exposed to someone who is behind him, which will require him to summon another Shield. Therefore, this spell is best used in one-to-one combat. Summoning the shield is easy enough for most wizards and witches with a reasonable amount of talent, though using it to its fullest extent requires practice. Moreover, repeated conjuration of the Shield will quickly tire out the user, which is why most wizards only resort to this as a last form of defence. While it will protect the caster from any spell, including the Killing Curse as it is physically present and not merely the manifestation of energy, maintaining it can be a problem, for like every conjured object, the Shield will eventually disappear (rather quickly in most cases). As long as it remains, though, the caster can be safe in the knowledge that no harm will come to him as long as he remains behind it."  
_

_The ultimate defence,_ Harry gasped. If he could learn this in addition to the Firestorm, he would have two extremely powerful weapons in his arsenal - one offensive, the other defensive. Underneath the text was a sketch of an intricate shield large enough for a person to hide behind. Harry only knew that because the picture actually showed someone crouching behind it.

Licking his lips, Harry read further. There were instructions waiting for him to copy them down, which he gladly did. _'Parma Argenta,'_ he noted down the incantation, along with small details concerning wand movement. Once he had copied the important points down, he was going to turn the page when the door of the Restricted Section opened.

"So you can read, too, Peverell?" asked Hermione Granger, mockingly, dropping the books she had onto the table.

"Sick of that book of yours, Hermione?" Harry asked as the girl took a seat as far away from him as she could.

Wincing slightly at his casual use of her first name, she shook her head. "I'm just here for a bit of homework. You can't find peace anywhere in this castle apart from the library."

"True, true," Harry said.

"I see that you've been busy," she said, looking at the pile of books that stood in front of the boy. "Have I scared you so much that you feel the need to learn spells from the Restricted Section? Afraid that your little dangling trick won't work? Maybe I was wrong about you."

"Dream on. In fact, there isn't much in here that I'd like to learn. I was just going to leave."

"Please do."

Stuffing his notes back into his bag, Harry picked up the books that he had taken and proceeded to place them back on the shelves. Hermione Granger, he saw, was absorbed in her homework and didn't pay him any more attention. Before leaving, the boy passed by Granger, glancing at her homework. Noticing him lingering over her, the girl asked him without turning towards him, "Is there a problem?"

"Yes," he told her, pointing to a line that she had been writing. "It's better if you stir counter-clockwise seven times and then add a clockwise stir. Speeds up the process. See you later, Hermione."

He left the library, leaving behind a seething Hermione Granger to do her homework.

* * *

For the second time that day, Harry Peverell was standing in the Room of Requirement, eager to try out the second spell that he wanted to learn. The Room was able to clean itself very quickly since he had left it only about an hour ago, full of broken models. Now it was clean again and the dummies were good as new.

_I won't be needing those right now._

He opened the roll of parchment on which he had scribbled down the instructions to the spell. The wand movement was simply a circular wave of the wand. He practiced it several times before going onwards. Like other forms of transfiguration, conjuration also required him to have a clear mental picture of whatever it was that he wanted to get. With his eyes closed, Harry imagined a cicular, gilded shield, covered in ornate patterns, materialising in thin air.

Drawing a deep breath, he forcefully formed a circle in thin air with his wand and shouted, "Parma Argenta!"

The space in front of him distorted for a moment. Harry thought he saw something shiny appear for a split second. Whatever it was, it didn't last long.

He furrowed his eyebrows. _What just happened?_ It was as if the shield wasn't sure whether or not to appear. There were several possibilities. Perhaps he wasn't strong enough. Perhaps he wasn't calling out the name properly. Perhaps the wand movement was faulty. The most reasonable explanation was that he wasn't skilled enough to summon a perfect shield on his first try. It had been stupid of him to try and conjure an intricate object, like the one he had seen in the picture. It would be better to picture something simpler, something that required less effort. He could improve the aesthetic part later on.

"Parma Argenta," he voiced, once again moving his wand in a circle. _Aha!_

A silver, circular shield appeared in the circle he had just traced with his wand. There was nothing special about it, not even its size. It clattered to the ground. Picking it up, Harry held it out in front of him. _Not even heavy._ It was wide enough to protect his torso if he kept holding it, something he couldn't do in the midst of a duel. This wasn't what he had been hoping to conjure, but he would take whatever he got for now. Shield in hand, Harry walked over to one of the dummies and placed it in the arms of one, tightly secured.

Once he was a suitable distance away, Harry pointed his wand at the shield and cast a Stunning Spell. This time, the shield did not disappoint him as the spell ricocheted off. Encouraged, he threw five Stunners at once, all of which were deflected as well, a loud gong sounding each time a spell made contact with the metal.

"Let's see you take this. Infernus Tempesta!"

The miniature fireball went flying in the direction of the imperfect Silver Shield. As soon as contact was made, the fire engulfed the shield. The next moment, both the metal and the fire were gone, only smoke remaining were they had been. The imperfect shield had managed to block the imperfect fireball, but ended up being destroyed in the process, just like an ordinary Shield Charm.

Crossing his legs on the floor, he boy concluded that he had the theory of the conjuration down. All that was required was imagining the shield in his mind, concentrating and casting the spell. If his intent had been strong enough, the shield would appear. What was needed, though, was practice. He would have to work his way up. He needed to strengthen the shield, make it larger and, if he had the time, make it better-looking. _Yeah, like the enemy cares how beautiful your defence is._

Taking out what was probably the only pen in the whole school from his bag, Harry attempted to draw a rough sketch of the shield that he wanted to create, but all he ended up doing was making a circle because that was all that he wanted to create - a plain, circular shield. Slightly vexed, he set fire to the piece of parchment that he had used for this task. How exactly did one strengthen something in their mind's eye?

With his eyes closed, he pictured a circle. Then he imagined it as a shield. That was the easy part. According to Harry, there was only one way to go forward - he began to picture himself hammering the shield. He kept hammering it, making sure that he would not imagine it being dented. Satisfied by this, he stopped imagining himself and instead saw the shield being bombarded with spells. They kept hitting it relentlessly but the shield would not crumble - Harry wouldn't let it. Then it was covered in flames. _Don't melt. Don't melt._

Content with the picture that he had formed in his mind, Harry got up to give it another try. A circular motion of the wand in the air, followed by the incantation. A shield similar to what he had conjured previously appeared in the air, but was caught by him before it could hit the ground. It was time to put it to the test. Securing it in between the arms of a dummy, Harry stepped back. Just like before, each one of his spells was deflected. Every Reductor, Stunner, Disarmer and even Sectumsempra was reflected in another direction.

Once again, flames began to lick the shield. Harry held his breath as he watched the fire and metal battle it out for supremacy. Although the metal put up a better fight this time, it was destroyed once again and the shield vanished. By his estimate, it must have taken the fire two minutes to do that, which could mean that the shield was pretty strong and had only disappeared because its time was up. But then again, Harry had been wrong before, sometimes with dire consequences.

Any more attempts would leave him too exhausted for the Dueling Club. The very fact that he had conjured it on his first try was commendable. He had already spent an hour here earlier, trying to improve his fireball so that it was something stronger, something more impressive. Even though he had not succeeded when it came to that, it had not been a total waste. Now he could create the fireball without any strain on his body and, to his surprise, could alter its trajectory at will. He wasn't stupid enough to continue with even more practice today. Who knew who he would get as a dueling partner? Visiting the Hospital Wing was, contrary to popular belief in the 'other' Hogwarts, not something that he fancied.

* * *

"Alright, everyone," called Professor Klein. "Gather around, gather around! I haven't got all day!"

A hushed silence fell over the Hall once the pupils crowded on either side of the platform on which the woman stood, addressing everyone.

"Finally. Okay, I gave you free rein last week because I needed to explain the basics of dueling to the new students. But today, you'll be playing critic. I'll have a pair of my choice come up here and duel. I want you to carefully analyse their fighting style. Once they're done, you will tell me why the loser lost and why the winner won. It's as simple as that. Just keep you eyes open. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Professor Klein," the students replied in unison.

"Good to hear," she said as she walked back and forth, scrutinising the crowd gathered around her. "Why don't we start with the new ones? It'll be your first duel. Get up here, Samuels. You, too, Elias."

Samuels, a lanky Ravenclaw with equally pale hair and skin, came onto the stage from one side. From the other side came a dark-haired Hufflepuff who could give Samuels a run for his money when it came to being tall and thin. Harry could see anxiety stamped across their faces in bold letters. He found himself praying that they didn't mess up. Once they had reached the center of the Hall, the professor spoke up.

"Assume your positions. The duel is over when one of you has the other's wand his possession."

With a bow, the two moved away from each other before turning back, wands poised to attack.

"On the count of three. One, two, three!"

"Expelliarmus!" Both boys cried out at once.

Jets of red light shot from their wands and met in the center of the Hall, cancelling each other out like Finnegan and Smith's spells in their duel. The room burst into life as the students picked sides and began to cheer. Harry bit his tongue to keep himself from getting carried away in the excitement. Maintaining his focus on the duel, he tired to pick out errors. It wasn't difficult to do.

Being rookies, they were making several mistakes. The most obvious weakness was the fact that they were not using Shield Charms, but that could be forgiven because they weren't taught in Fourth Year. Then their dodging was also faulty - they were throwing themselves around. Standing beside Harry, Castor was screaming out loud, "Stun each other, you idiots!"

The worst part came when Elias managed to hit Samuels with _Everte Statum_, launching him into the air, causing him to land on his bottom. Had he ended the duel with a Disarming Charm, Harry would have clapped for the boy. Unfortunately, it didn't end there. Samuels raised a thin arm towards his opponent with a smile on his face. His look said, _'Congrats, you beat me fair and square.'_ His teeth clenched, Harry fought the urge to yell out loud, "Don't do it! Finish it!"

Perhaps it was because he had forgotten that a duel didn't end until your opponent was disarmed and you had his or her wand, or perhaps it was because he was a Hufflepuff and expected everyone to play fair - Harry didn't know what made Elias reach out to grab Samuels hand and lift him up. One thing was for sure - he had just lost himself his first proper duel.

Samuels pulled Elias down with him. Shocked, the falling boy let go of his wand in order to protect his face from hitting the stage. Before he realised what had actually happened, Samuels had lunged for Elias' wand. Both sticks in hand, he got up and bowed to the crowd, which was roaring with laughter. Before leaving the platform, he presented his hand to Elias with a genuine smile on his face. Once again, Elias took clasped his hand. This time, Samuels did not trick him. Both boys shook hands and walked back to their place in the crowd.

Professor Klein returned to the center of the stage with a look of amusement plastered over her face. Once the laughter died out, she addressed the class, "Do I even need to ask you what went wrong? Apart from Elias' last mistake, what other faults were you able to find?"

An Asian girl raised her hand. "Apart from the first two spells, it looked like they were taking turns to attack each other. They gave each other time to settle down."

"Very good, Miss Tran. There is no such thing as 'my turn' in a duel. Waiting for your opponent to stop casting isn't something you should do, unless you have a strong defence. Attack whenever you get the chance. Anyone else?"

Everard Rookwood spoke up, "The way they were dodging, they would have lost as soon as the duel began."

"Yes. Samuels, Elias, don't throw yourselves around like that. Ducking and jumping is alright as long as you don't end up on the floor. Against a more experienced duelist, you'd be dead. Count yourself lucky that you were taking turns to attack, and gave each other the time to get back up. Anyway, for those who don't know, _Everte Statum_ is a sort of person-banishing charm that launches the target into the air. Use it well. Any other volunteers?"

Several hands went up when she asked the question. Just like before, Professor Klein surveyed the class, thinking of an appropriate match-up.

"Now that we've had a duel between to rookies, I think it's best to go with two people on the other side of the experience chart. Rookwood, up!"

Rookwood jogged up to the stage amidst applause, and stood patiently as the professor selected his opponent.

"Peverell, take the stage."

Surrounded by clapping students, an elated Harry walked up. He had been looking forward to something like this. After the debacle that had been the previous duel, he intended on giving a proper display. The professor stepped off the stage, and the two boys came to a halt in the middle of it, wands in hand.

"You know how it's done, come on!" The professor refereed.

Giving each other the tiniest of bows, the boys assumed the accept combative position. Harry waited with bated breath for the countdown to begin.

"...and three!"

Both combatants stood still, waiting for the other to make a move. A thousand possible ways to begin ran through Harry's mind, rendering him unable to choose one. Silence reigned supreme for a minute, only broken when Castor Black told them to get a move on - a demand that most of the students agreed with. Increasingly pugnacious, Harry decided to go for it.

"Rictusempra!"

The Tickling Charm was easily cast aside by the dark-skinned boy, who countered with a Stunner. Harry ducked, sending back Tickling Charms simultaneously. A quick Shield Charm by Rookwood was able to easily deflect the oncoming jets of light, but resulted in the shield being shattered. Rookwood stepped forward, moving towards his opponent.

"Impedimenta!" Harry cast.

Before he had time to react, Everard Rookwood was frozen in his tracks. Harry stood back up and prepared to launch a Disarming Spell. Before he could do so, Rookwood had regained movement and cast _Petrificus Totalus._

"Protego!"

Harry's Shield Charm deflected the Body-Bind Curse back at its caster, who was forced to bend over to avoid it.

"Everte Statum!"

Both boys sent the same spell at each other. There was a whizzing sound as the jets of lights passed each other, heading towards their targets. Rookwood jumped aside to avoid it, while Harry cast another Shield Charm to protect himself. _Why isn't he using Shield Charms?_ Harry thought. _He didn't use one against Granger, either. Maybe he's rubbish when it comes to them._ That would be it, he concluded, thinking of how easily his shield had yielded to two Tickling Charms.

While he was busy thinking, Rookwood seized his change and sent an Impediment Jinx at Harry who only realised what was happening when the spell hit him. He was knocked off his feet and fell on his bottom. Harry saw a malicious glint in the eye of his foe. _Uh oh._

"Incarcerous!" Rookwood summoned ropes in the air.

Having anticipated something like this, Harry was prepared.

"Incendio!" he roared, sitting on his knees.

As soon as the ropes had moved towards Harry, they burst into flames. Rookwood bit his lip at this unexpected development.

"Let's see you counter this, Peverell! _Copulus_!" Everard said with a smirk on his face.

This time, black ropes flew out from the tip of the boy's wand, coiling their way towards Harry, who tried to burn them with an Incendio. The cursed ropes did not burn, much to Harry's amazement. A regular Shield Charm would not be able to stop them. Quickly, Harry traced a circle in the air.

"Parma Argenta!"

The Silver Shield materialised in front of the boy. There were whoops of admiration from the class as the ropes began winding themselves around the first solid object that they found - the Shield. Agitation was apparent on the other boy's face. He had definitely not expected this.

Harry jumped up. Now he knew Rookwood's weakness - he had weak defences.

"Reducto!"

Rookwood managed to duck.

"Stupefy!"

Rookwood neutralised it with a stunner of his own.

"Bombarda!"

The space in front of Rookwood exploded. Coughing, the boy fell to the floor. Before he knew it, Harry had sent an _Expelliarmus._ Rookwood's wand flew into the air. As its owner prepared to catch it, Harry summoned it to him. The crowd of students, which had been egging them on loudly, began screaming at the top of its voice. Throwing the wand back to its owner, Harry returned to his place beside Castor Black, getting a thump on the back.

"You sure showed him, Harry!" his friend said, jubilantly.

Harry simply nodded in reply, his eyes on Rookwood. With a look on his face that suggested that he could not believe what had happened, the defeated boy had gone to stand beside Hermione Granger, who was whispering something in his ear. Although he could not hear it, if Harry had to guess, he would say that she was reprimanding him for losing to him.

Professor Klein, who had finally managed to fix the stage, began addressing the class in her magically amplified voice, "Now that was a duel! Well done, both of you. Take ten points for Slytherin. No, that's not ten points each. So, who can tell me what set this duel apart from the previous one?"

"This one was actually good!" called Castor.

"Very funny, Mr. Black. Anyone else?"

"They didn't repeat the mistakes from the previous duel," said Seamus Finnegan.

"They used Shield Charms to good effect," piped up a small boy. "At least Peverell did."

"Yes," said the professor. "Rookwood, I've been telling you this since your fifth year - brush up on your Shield Charm. It's still as fragile as ever. As for you, Mr. Peverell, that was a nice piece of conjuration there. Quick thinking. I like that. Thinking quickly is one of the greatest abilities that a duelist can have. It's not one you can develop by practice, in my opinion. You either have it, or you don't. Anyway, what time is it?"

"Almost nine, Professor."

"A pity. We could try and squeeze in a duel, but if the clock strikes nine before it's over, I'm afraid you must break it up. Okay then, who's next?"

Several hands went up.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed it._


	10. Blishen's, Not Ogden's

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

_The Ministry is not aware of any vault being reactivated. The Potter money was accessed because, as stated earlier, James Potter was Voldemort's follower. Due to the issues that goblins have with wizards, I doubt they would let them have any sort of relation with the banking system. And yes, Harry is still a parselmouth. The Peverell family was among the first pure-blood families to become extinct in the male line. Judging by the eroded grave of Ignotus, I think it can be safely assumed that they were not a very prominent pure-blood family, rather like the Weasleys. Ignotus' name is almost illegible. Therefore, to most people, the Peverell family never even existed. As for the rest, all in good time.  
_

* * *

_(Saturday, the twentieth of September)_

Harry Peverell, along with most of the school, stood in the Entrance Hall, waiting for Professor McGonagall to finish taking the attendance for the second Hogsmeade trip of the year. Now that he was seventeen, there was no need for a guardian or a parent to give him permission as he was legally of age in the wizarding world. Once all the students had been accounted for, Professor McGonagall and Runcorn led the students outside.

The gelid September air greeted him as he stepped outside. Winter was coming. Soon, everything would be covered in a blanket of white snow. The trees were almost done with the shedding of their leaves, and the little of those that they had left appeared to be covered in rust. This was going to be the last Hogsmede trip before the snow began to fall.

Struggling to keep his teeth from chattering, he followed the crowd on an uneventful journey by foot to Hogsmeade, the wizarding village that had been visited by nearly every student who had ever stepped foot into Hogwarts. The Muggle clothes that he had gotten from Dumbledore after asking him for some did little to keep the cold out and the heat in. The village was a sight for sore eyes for Harry, who had not stepped foot beyond the boundary of Hogwarts' grounds.

It was just as he remembered, a picturesque juxtaposition of old houses and vividly decorated shops that had been prepared for the arrival of so many Hogwarts pupils. With a strict warning not to go too far from the village, the professors let the students go. A flurry of activity followed as the crowd disbanded, splitting up into little groups. The majority, as expected, immediately rushed to what was arguably Hogsmeade's greatest attraction, Honeydukes, and to the legendary joke shop, Zonko's.

Alone and cold, Harry concluded that the best thing for him to do was get a hot Butterbeer to get the blood flowing again in his frozen hands. He didn't mind snow, but the weather today wasn't exactly friendly - not to him, at least. _Either snow or get back to summer! Make up your mind!_ Stamping his feet, he made his way to the Three Broomsticks Inn, another popular destination for students. The instant he set foot inside the slightly smoky inn, the boy knew that this had been a good idea. A feeling of warmth washed over him, a far cry from the frigid wind that had been blowing outside.

Glad that the rush hour had not yet begun, he moved languidly across the empty room to the bar, where he took a seat. This was the first time that he had seen the inn so deserted. A slightly overweight man with a scar under his left eye greeted him. Despite his somewhat intimidating appearance, Harry knew that he was a light-hearted fellow.

"Haven't seen you around these parts, kid," he said.

"Oh, my parents never gave me permission to come here before," Harry lied, not telling him that he was a transfer student - which he wasn't. "Can't stop me now, can they?"

"It's good to be of age. Call me Birch. Can I get you something?"

"I didn't know Madam Rosmerta had any help - I mean, my friends wouldn't shut up about her."

Birch chuckled and called out loudly, "Oi, Rosmerta! We've got another one asking for you."

"Hey, hey!" Harry panicked slightly. "I didn't ask for her!"

The man didn't pay him any attention and went upstairs to clean, a cloth in hand. Rolling his eyes, Harry waited for someone to come and take his order. _Can't a guy get a Butterbeer around this place?_ After what seemed like eons, a curvy woman with a pretty face came up behind the bar and gave Harry a dazzling smile. How she managed to look so young was an unsolved mystery. He could vividly remember her conversation with McGonagall when she had mentioned serving James Potter and Sirius Black.

"Well, hello there," she addressed him. "You're a new face."

"I am," he told her, watching her take out mugs and tankards from a large showcase. "It's nice to meet you. I didn't mean to bother you. It was Birch..." he trailed off.

"Aren't you a sweetheart? Don't worry about that. I had almost forgotten we were getting Hogwarts students today. It isn't often that they visit two weekends in a row." She turned to him. "Now, what can I get you, dear?"

"A hot Butterbeer, please."

_Finally,_ he thought, as a foaming tankard of the drink was placed in front of him. He drained it as fast he could, not caring whether it burned his tongue or not. Wiping off the froth mustache that he had just gained, Harry asked for another one. He had never developed a taste for Firewhiskey. Butterbeer, on the other hand, was a different story. He felt that he could finish at least four tankards before he got sick of the sugar.

As Rosmerta took his mug to refill, the boy heard the sound of a door opening and closing. Looking over his left shoulder, he saw two lovebirds take a seat at a table in a dark corner before gluing their lips together. Harry crinkled his nose. Ever since the incident with Cho Chang in Madam Puddifoot's, he had developed a strong aversion to public displays of affection. _At least those two chose to sit in a corner. That way we can avoid looking at them, _he mused, watching Birch take their order.

Rosmerta set his refilled tankard in front of him. He took a sip. The door opened and closed once again. This time, he ignored it, choosing to enjoy the taste of his steaming drink which was hotter than the one he had finished.

"A firewhiskey would be good, Rosmerta," a familiar voice drawled from his right. "Blishen's, not Ogden's."

Wiping his mouth hastily, Harry turned to see who it was. His guess proved true as he saw who it was. _Of all the places- _Hermione Granger, looking quite pale herself, had taken a seat two stools away from him after she had removed her cloak to reveal light grey robes that looked more like one of those long sweater coats Muggle women wore. _Probably the closest she'll ever get to Muggle clothes without actually wearing them._

"We do seem to run into each other often, Peverell," said Hermione Granger. "Why is that?"

"Bad luck, I guess," he said before he blithely added, "Happy belated birthday, Hermione. Yesterday, wasn't it? Madam Rosmerta, that firewhiskey's on me."

"No, it's not. Pay him no attention, Rosmerta. Now why would you remember my birthday?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I asked first."

"I'm good with this kind of stuff, remembering birthdays. You won't understand."

Shaking her head, the girl accepted the tall glass of alcohol that the older woman placed in front of her. To Harry's surprise, she even thanked the barmaid as she paid her a galleon. He hadn't intended on paying for her anyway, only offering to do so because he knew that she would refuse. Blishen's, Harry knew, was not something that was consumed in the average wizarding household. Despite that, he couldn't help but wonder why anyone would dish out a galleon for a firewhiskey. _Different strokes for different folks_, he thought, sipping his butterbeer.

"So, Hermione, learn any new _spells?_" Harry questioned.

"Why? Finally decided on becoming my test subject?" she asked, calmly.

"No, no. It's just that I don't want to embarrass you terribly in front of the whole school when we duel. You remember what happened to your friend, don't you?"

"You don't have to worry about that, Peverell. It's not going to happen, I assure you. Everard was caught by surprise when you conjured that shield. Everyone was, I daresay. It seems he underestimated you," she explained, finishing her glass. Her cheeks slightly flushed, she asked Rosmerta for another one.

"And you don't?"

"I don't think so," she answered, tersely.

"I'm honoured," Harry said. As Granger began sipping her second glass of firewhiskey, he added, "How can you even drink that stuff?"

"Some of us can afford luxuries, Peverell."

"I'm sure you can. It tastes like butt."

"What?!" she exclaimed, appalled.

"A Muggle figure of speech."

"Ah, yes. Ever the Muggle lover, aren't you? You're even dressed like one. Forgive me if I forget that. Slytherins don't think along those lines - _most_ Slytherins, at least. Your partner in crime seems to be missing again. Has the dream team split up?"

_Dream team, ha_, he thought bitterly. That was what Snape had called him and Ron in the second year Dueling Club.

"The dream team, as you put it, is still together," he replied. "You don't need to worry about that. As for my clothes, I think they're rather comfortable, even if they're a little cold. No need to bother with any long robes that get stuck under you when you sit." He gripped his jacket dramatically from the front.

Having emptied his mug, Harry turned to the barmaid, who was taking orders from the students as they began filling the pub. "How much, Madam Rosmerta?"

"Four sickles," she said, handing Birch a tray of empty mugs.

Removing his moleskin pouch from the inside of his jacket, Harry picked out the required amount of money, also removing an extra amount so that he wouldn't need to bring out the pouch repeatedly. He handed it over to Rosmerta, who replied, "Have a nice day!" before turning to other patrons. Beside him, Hermione Granger had started on her third glass.

Before leaving, he addressed her one last time, "You might want to keep the firewhiskey in check. It's getting too crowded in here. Later, Hermione."

* * *

The change in the surrounding temperature was drastic as Harry stepped outside. It was late afternoon, almost evening. Putting on his gloves, he whispered a prayer for the creator of butterbeer. The wind wasn't as biting now. He looked around, mulling over where to go next. Zonko's wasn't on top of his list. Jokes weren't his forte. Honeydukes, however, was looking quite inviting with its colourful exterior and windows which showed boxes of every kind of candy imaginable.

Stepping inside, Harry found that the shop was still crowded, though not as much as it had been when he had gone to Rosmerta's inn. Candy, candy and more candy, as far as the eye could see. Shelves full of it lined the walls. Barrels of odd-looking merchandise stood on the chequered floor against the green walls. Acid Pops, Chocoballs, Bertie Bott's, Sugar Quills and even blood-flavoured lollipops. He closed his eyes as he passed by the barrel of Cockroach Clusters, having seen Castor eat enough of those. Speaking of Castor, where in the world was that boy?

Getting himself a bag full of Chocolate Frogs, Fizzing Whizzbees and crystallised pineapple, Harry left the store as a happy young man. A quick _Reducio_ made it possible for him to carry the bag in his jeans' pocket. He was reeling after having picked a vomit-flavoured bean from the barrel placed next to the door for anyone who wanted to try one. A sign next to it had strictly stated 'Only One To a Customer'.

Strolling aimlessly, he found himself going in the direction of the Shrieking Shack. His heart began racing as he increased his pace. The Shack! He could see it. His only link to the last of the Marauders whom he could hope to trust, that is, if he was still alive. There was no way that he would be found in this Shack, but Harry still wanted to catch a glimpse of what was called "Britain's Most Haunted Building" in the other world.

Three Ravenclaws - two girls and a boy - and two Hufflepuff boys (in their uniforms) were watching it from afar when Harry came close. Their gazes were fixed in its direction as they talked to each other.

"Go on, Gambol," a girl taunted one of the Hufflepuffs. "Are you scared?"

"Come of it, Trisha," said the Ravenclaw boy. "I'd like to see you try."

"Yeah, Flume. Go on!" Gambol voiced.

"C-come on, Gambol. I told you to do it first."

"Scared?"

The second Hufflepuff spoke up, "At this rate, we'll be stuck here all day."

"Then why don't you go in, Gabriel?"

"I meant that we should go back," Gabriel mumbled.

A twig cracked under Harry's foot, causing the other five to look around at him. Hostility. He could see it on their faces. Could he blame them, though? From what he had seen, the Slytherins had been rather unwelcoming to him, their own housemate. He could only imagine what others went through, unless it was similar to how Malfoy had treated him. Then the Ravenclaw boy's face lit up.

"Peverell! You're a good duelist from what we've seen," he called. "How about putting your skills to the test by going in there?" He pointed to the rundown hut. "People say it's haunted."

Harry moved a little closer. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

"What do you mean?" The slight smile on his face vanished.

"What's your name?"

"Osbert."

"Well, Osbert, think about it. We're Hogwarts students. We see ghosts everyday. Why be scared?"

Osbert furrowed his eyebrows. "Your point?"

"What kind of monster do you think lives in there?"

"They say," began Trisha Flume, "that there's something in there that howls and screeches. At least, that's what I've heard. Why would a ghost do that?"

"What do you think it is, in that case?" asked Harry.

Before she could answer, a loud howl came from the Shack. Everyone, including Harry, had the colour drain away from their faces. _This can't be!_

"See?" Gambol said, moving away, followed by the others. "It - it sounds like a wolf. What if it's a werewolf?"

The howl rang out again. _Wait a_ _minute, a werewolf doesn't sound like that!_ Now that he had heard the sound for a second time, he had been able to analyse it quickly. Memories of a transformed Remus Lupin came flooding back to him. This howl was not savage, it did not speak of unsatisfied hunger or pain. Then he saw it. It had been a fleeting image, but Harry had managed to catch sight of it in the window.

"Seriously?" he shouted.

Harry leapt over the fence strode towards the Shack, having rid himself of the feeling of trepidation that had threatened to overwhelm him. The other five stood watching from a distance, wondering whether he was extremely courageous or just plain stupid. The front door was locked - nothing an _Alohomora wouldn't fix_. Drawing in a deep breath, he watched it creak open. As quiet as a mouse, he stepped inside, wand brandished. Even though he had figured out what was going on, he thought it wise to have a weapon on him.

The room was empty, except for a decrepit armchair that had its place beneath the window. _Silencio!_ No longer did the floor boards creak under his feet. Looking out of the window, he ascertained that this had, indeed, been the place where he had seen it. He saw the Hufflepuff boy, Gabriel, give him a thumbs-up.

He moved to the dilapidated staircase that led into the dark basement. Wand at the ready, he began descending. No sound at all. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest. Why was he so scared when he knew what he was going to find?

"Lumos Maxima!"

A ball of white light shot out of the Elder Wand and became suspended in midair.

"ARGH!" cried Castor Black, shielding his eyes, sitting on a worn mattress. . "Harry! Can't say I didn't expect you, but you came here quicker than I thought you would."

Roaring with laughter, Harry spoke, "I knew it. You might want to make your howl a little more wolf-like."

"But I did it just like Birch taught me to! Did you see those other kids? Haha."

"Next time, you might want to be a little sneakier while looking at your results. I could see your face."

"Yeah, I thought our eyes met for a second, so I ran down here."

"Wanted to catch me by surprise?"

"Wanted to. Apart from the door opening, you didn't make a single noise. Nice work with the Silencing Charm."

"Thanks," Harry accepted the compliment. "What were you doing in here? This place is a mess."

"Scaring people. Duh! I managed to drive away ten students before you came here, most of them Third or Fourth Years."

"And you weren't scared?"

"You don't really believe in all that talk about ghosts haunting this place, do you? What's the worst they can do? Glide through us?"

"Nice thinking there, Sherlock. Let's go."

"Sherlock?" Castor asked, getting up and dusting his robes.

"Muggle detective. He isn't real, though."

Once they were on the upper level, Castor whispered, "Hey, Harry, start screaming. Quick."

"What?"

"Come on, it'll be fun."

"Oh, right," said Harry, realising what his friend meant. He cast a weak _Sonorus _on both their throats.

Castor began howling loudly and Harry began yelling in mock pain. Through the window, they caught sight of the group of five running away. Overcome with laughter, both boys left the Shrieking Shack, and began making their way towards the center of the village, showing each other what they had bought. Castor, as expected, had a bag dedicated to Mars bars and Cockroach Clusters. On their way, they came across the same students they had scared away, looking at them with open mouths. When Castor waved at them, they realised what had happened and gave the pair a look that promised pain.

Ignoring them, the two boys made their way onward. They had reached the opposite end of the village when Harry froze in his tracks. With a panicked look on his face, he ran his hands over his pockets before spewing some colourful words.

"What's the matter?" asked Castor, licking a blood-flavoured lollipop.

"I can't find my money bag!"

"What?! Where were you last?"

"Honeydukes! But I didn't take it out there!" Then he remembered. "The Three Broomsticks! I put it on the bar!"

"Come on, then! I was thinking of going there anyway," Castor said, turning back.

_Don't be stolen! Don't be stolen!_ The wasn't worried about someone taking out the money - that was impossible. Stealing the whole pouch, though, would be problematic. The sun had begun to set, causing the temperature to drop even lower. His breath had started to fog.

The familiar warmth took hold of him when he entered the inn, which was almost full now. Pushing their way through, the two reached the bar, coming to a stop beside someone who had their head down.

"Madam Rosmerta! Madam Rosmerta!" Castor called over the tumult of the crowd.

The woman came over, holding a tray of hot chocolate. "Ah, Black. How can I help you?"

"One those mugs of hot chocolate would be good. In fact, don't mind if I help myself," he grinned, taking a mug from the tray, causing Rosmerta to roll her eyes. "And Harry seems to have forgotten his money bag here."

"A small moleskin pouch," Harry finally spoke up.

"That was yours, was it? Hold on."

She filled another mug with hot chocolate to replace the one that Harry's friend had helped himself to. Once she had passed the tray on to a Hogwarts girl, she opened a drawer. Relief washed over Harry as he saw his pouch just as he remembered it.

"Moleskin? That would explain why it didn't open. I thought there would be some form of identification inside." She handed it to the boy. "Let's see you open it."

Harry untied it and withdrew a bronze knut.

"That settles it," said Rosmerta. "Take care of your money, dear. Come on, Granger, you've finished a whole bottle!"

The person with heir head down groaned. Harry jumped aside.

"Oh, Hermione, you're still here. Good to see you again."

"Zip it, Peverell," the young woman beside him said, raising her head. Her cheeks were red and puffy, and her voice slurred. She counted out a few Galleons, handing them over to the older woman, and left.

"What's with her?" Harry asked his friend.

"I dunno," the other boy replied, sipping his drink. "Must really like her firewhiskey. Ouch, my tongue. Hot, hot!"

"You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"So I've heard, Harry, so I've heard."

* * *

The dormitory was empty except for Harry when it happened. There was a flash of fire directly above his head, and for a brief moment, he saw Fawkes the phoenix grab hold of his shoulder. Before he had time to process what was happening, his surroundings changed. Gone were the beds of the dormitory, replaced odd instruments and portraits. He jumped up when he realised that he was sitting in Dumbledore's office. Fawkes had flown back to his perch.

"Harry," said a soft voice behind him. "Good to see you again. I hope you are doing well."

It was Dumbledore.

"Er, yes, professor. Good to see you, too," he stammered.

"I am sorry for the way Fawkes brought you here. He isn't feeling good these days. Burning Day must be close."

_Not feeling good? That's an understatement._ Gone was the handsome bird with the magnificent plumage. Instead, Fawkes resembled a half-plucked turkey than anything, a far cry from what he usually looked like. Both wizards took their seats.

"It's okay..."

"I believe you had a Hogsmeade trip, today."

"Yes, sir."

"Is it as you remember?"

"Yes - I think."

Peering over his half-moon spectacles, the older wizard asked, "Is there something bothering you?"

"No."

"Forgive me for boasting, Harry, but do you really think that you can hide something from me?"

"Uh... It's the Shrieking Shack."

"The Most Haunted Building in Britain. I don't see why that is a problem."

Harry spoke, "Sir, where I, um, come from, the Shack was used as a shelter for a student who was a werewolf. In fact, it was you who arranged the whole thing."

"I see you know the story behind it."

"So the house was used as a shelter here?"

"Indeed."

"By a student?"

"That is true."

"By the name of Remus Lupin?"

"That is correct, Harry," Dumbledore smiled. "Remus John Lupin, best friend of Sirius Black, and a prefect. If I may ask, how do you know about him?"

"He was a Defence teacher in my Third Year, the best I ever had. But most of all, he was a friend of my dad."

"While I doubt you could say the same thing about them here, I can tell you about him if you are interested."

"I'd like that very much," said Harry. _At least, I hope I like it..._'

"Remus Lupin, Harry, came to attend Hogwarts in nineteen seventy-one, if my prodigious memory serves me right, and was sorted into Gryffindor. There was some concern among the staff at first, but I was able to convince them. I thought it best not to reveal his 'condition', the result of being bitten as a child, to the students. Fear clouds our judgment and prevents us from seeing the good in people. Once a month, the poor boy was sent to an abandoned hut on the edge of Hogsmeade village. Due to loss of control as a werewolf, he would bite himself. His moaning and whining gave birth to the myth about the shack being haunted, giving it its current name. Are you familiar with this story, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. It's exactly as I remember it. Where is he now, though? I doubt he'd be in the Ministry."

"If you believe that werewolves aren't used by the Ministry, you are wrong. Several of their interrogator are werewolves, as well as some of the prison guards at Azkaban. Dementors cannot do all the work, can they? The fear werewolves inspire is strong enough to render the use of Veritaserum redundant."

"So, you mean-" he began, horrified.

"No, no," Dumbledore interjected. "Remus Lupin can no longer harm anyone."

"He's dead?"

"The werewolf in him no longer lives. He is but a normal wizard now."

"How can that be?" Harry gasped.

"Have you heard of Damocles' Wolfsbane Potion?"

"Yes. Remus used to take it."

"If he worked in Hogwarts, as you say, I presume Severus Snape was the one who brewed it."

He nodded.

Dumbledore continued, "Severus Snape, possibly the most brilliant potioneer Hogwarts has ever seen, Harry."

"I get it," Harry clapped his hands. "So Snape managed to make a potion that actually cures lycanthropy?"

"Indeed. His greatest achievement yet, it gained him an Order of Merlin, Second Class."

"They still give those out?"

"They do."

"So why does the Ministry still have werewolves?"

"Some of them have developed a taste for human meat. Not everyone considers lycanthropy a curse."

"So where is Remus?" asked an enthusiastic Harry.

"I am sorry to disappoint you, Harry, but, if I am correct, he is teaching in a school in South Africa."

Harry's mouth fell open. "South Africa?"

"South Africa."

"Why would he be there?"

"As you said, Harry, he was the best Defence teacher you ever had. That was a speciality of his. Professor Klein has been serving as the Defence professor here for the past ten years. Hogwarts is, I believe, the only school in Voldemort's realm that still teaches the subject. His parents were killed, fighting Voldemort in his early days. When his best friend, Sirius Black, died, he told me that he wanted a new start. This place holds too many sad memories for him."

His heart felt heavy. Remus Lupin. Gone. He sat there for a moment, watching the balding bird on his perch. Although this was a different world, he was still unable to meet up with those whom he had loved. Ron, gone. Lupin, gone. Sirius, dead. Hermione, a female Draco Malfoy. He couldn't help but consider it unfair. After a long silence he spoke up.

"Professor, why did you, er, call me?" _Call? The bird practically kidnapped me!_

"Of course, of course," Dumbledore remarked, removing an envelope from his drawer and holding it out to Harry, who accepted it.

"What's this?"

"You might want to open it, Harry."

He gently removed the seal on it emptied it. A few documents fell out onto his lap. Curiously, he picked up one. It was a small, blue card. On it was inscribed:

_Name: Harry James Peverell  
Date of Birth (dd/mm/yyyy): 31/07/1980  
Father's Name: James Elphias Peverell  
Mother's Name: Augusta Marietta Peverell  
Identification mark: Lightning-shaped scar on forehead  
_

Apart from the text, there was a golden sticker, probably used to to check whether the card was authentic. That was something Harry never understood. He had seen stickers like this everywhere, especially whenever he visited Flourish and Blotts. They, too, could be copied, just like this one.

"This is it?" Harry asked. "Only my scar serves as a sign of who I am?"

"I'm afraid so, Harry."

The younger wizard began going through the other pages. One was a birth certificate. After examining them thoroughly, Harry asked, "Professor, why does it say that I was born in the States?"

"That was my idea," Dumbledore explained. "Judging by the comments of your teachers, I doubt that you will be able to remain in the shadows for long. Now if someone tries searching for you in the records, Harry, what will you do when they find no record of a Harry Peverell being born? The blue card that you have shows that you are not a resident of wizarding Britain, rather a visiting student - it is something like a work permit. The North American Ministry, which actually oversees only Canada and the United States, does not have a cordial relationship with our Ministry. No one will dare ask them for your records. In fact, apart from people who migrated to the US before 1990, no one from Voldemort's realm is allowed to step foot on American shores. You are 'actually' an American citizen."

Harry had to admit that Dumbledore was right. He hadn't thought about that. It didn't matter much. Although he had told Castor about him moving to the States, it wouldn't be difficult to add that he was actually born there, too.

"Right you are," mumbled Harry. "If I may ask, why is my mother named Augusta Marietta Peverell?"

"Dear old Aunt Augusta, Harry, was a cousin of my mother's. I'm afraid she died without having married anyone. She was a muggle, as I'm sure you have guessed, since my mother herself was a muggleborn. Her name was the first that popped in my mind as I looked for a muggle relative of mine, having visited her several times as a child. And yes, Elphias is after Elphias Doge."

A wave of horror washed over Harry. "Professor, you just read my mind, didn't you?"

"Indeed, I did. And yes, your fear that someone else might do the same and learn the truth is not unfounded. That could pose, ahem, a few problems."

The boy groaned, "I actually wish Snape had gone ahead with those Occlumency lessons!"

"That explains it. Severus taught you, you say?"

"Yes, only a little though. We had...an argument. Explains what?"

"Forgive me, but when I first saw you, Harry, I had to read your mind to make sure that you weren't any threat. I'm sure you understand. Although you were unconscious at that time, I found something blocking me. I had to, as they say, kick it up a notch to enter your mind. Do not worry, I did not prod any deeper than was necessary," Dumbledore added, his eyes twinkling as usual.

Harry nodded. "What do you suggest, sir?"

"Some might call it favouritism, if they knew about it, but let's just say that we're in too deep already. Going back is impossible, so we must look to close this loophole."

"S- so you're saying that you'll teach me?" he asked, astonished. When Dumbledore nodded, he continued, "Um, er, wow. But, sir, you don't have to do all this, you know."

"True, I don't, but I'd rather. Being a headmaster is, contrary to popular belief, not an exciting job."

_So that's why he's always tinkering with this weird stuff,_ he thought about the instruments around him, _he's just bored... _

"It would be great, sir. Thank you," he expressed his gratitude. Here was a chance for him to add another feather to his cap.

"You're welcome. There's one last thing I would like to ask you."

"Of course."

Dumbledore took out something from his drawer, and gave it to Harry. It was a photograph - a wizard photograph, showing a man who looked to be in his early thirties, at the peak of his life. He looked at Harry with a haughty smirk playing on his lips, making him feel like he was seeing through the boy with eyes as dark as his jet-black hair that contrasted with his pale skin. Something was familiar about this man. Something...

"Is that the Tom you remember, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, leaning forward.

Harry sputtered, "This is Voldemort?"

"I take that as a no."

"Yes, no. I mean that this is not how I remember him. Why does he have a nose? He shouldn't have a nose! The creation of the horcruxes should have ruined him!" Harry exclaimed, pointing furiously at the Dark Lord's nose, which, he had to admit, was a rather fine nose.

"Exactly. I had been wondering why he kept his normal appearance. While it is most likely that he uses Glamours to keep up his youthful appearance, any effects of Dark Magic cannot be hidden. If his appearance had been altered by them, we should have been able to see it."

"Maybe Voldemort didn't make any horcruxes?" Harry offered.

"But you said that he did make them."

"Er, everything isn't the same, sir."

"I am aware of that. Maybe he just made one," the older wizard said.

"Perhaps, he made none? Maybe he's just too strong? If he had made any, I'm sure you would have realised."

Dumbledore looked into Harry's eyes, saying, "You place too much faith in an old man, dear boy."

"Well, sir, I have been called 'Dumbledore's man, through and through.'"

Fawkes burst into flames.

* * *

Harry was on his way back from the Room of Requirement, swelling with happiness. His hard work was paying off. That little fireball of his had been replaced by a much larger one. In fact, on one occasion, it had even taken the shape of a ring, and surrounded Harry in the form of weak flames. The Silver Shield was easier to work with. He had managed to increase its size by combining it with _Engorgio_. All that was left was for him to make it increase its size by itself - it was close to perfection. Now he would be having lessons with Dumbledore, too! While the meetings in his sixth year were also called 'lessons', he didn't exactly learn any new magic.

"Pure-blood," he said to the wall, which slid open.

He practically skipped inside, causing a few students to think that he had lost it. Not paying any attention to them, he made his way to his dormitory.

"...and checkmate," the voice of Everard Rookwood said.

Rookwood and Castor Black were sitting on the floor in front of Rookwood's bed, playing a game of Wizard's Chess. At least, the _had been_ playing it. Castor's king was surrounded by the other boy's pieces, and had begun to yell at Castor, throwing words at him that Harry was sure were not heard in decent households.

"Lost again. Damn!" Castor exclaimed before looking up at Harry. "Harry, you look pretty happy. Shut up, you stupid chess piece!" Castor chucked the king at the wall.

"You lost twice?" Harry asked, grinning. "To Rookwood? I've seen him play that Stark guy. Castor, you must be really bad at this."

"I can hear you, Peverell," snapped the third boy.

"I know you can, Rookwood. Let's admit it, you aren't that good."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really."

"Is that a challenge?" asked Rookwood, narrowing his eyes.

"It is," Harry answered, coolly.

Summoning the king back to him, Rookwood spoke to Castor, "Get aside, Black. Someone's going down."

"That's more like it," Castor said, clapping his hands. "The floor is yours, Harry."

"Ready to eat your words, Peverell?" Rookwood asked the bespectacled boy, who had taken a seat opposite him.

"Not unless your chess skills are better than your dueling skills, which isn't saying much," Harry taunted. "And just so you know, I've learned from the best."

* * *

_Over and out._


	11. Day Of The Duels

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

* * *

_"Legilimens," Dumbledore whispered._

_Harry's brain exploded with pain, causing the boy to grip his head and fall to his knees within a few seconds, shouting in agony. Images of him and Castor at the Shrieking Shack, of Hermione Granger drinking, of Madam Rosmerta and Birch - they all passed in front of him at an extremely fast pace. Within a few moments, the headmaster had been able to go through them. As soon as the boy's knees hit the ground, the older wizard withdrew his presence from the other's mind._

_Harry's breathing was heavy, and his eyes were unfocused. His palms were dripping with sweat. Once he managed to steady himself, the boy lifted himself off the floor of Dumbledore's office, and sat back on his chair._

_"It isn't a pleasant experience, is it, Harry?" inquired Dumbledore. "Legilimency at it's strongest. The feeling that your head will simply burst."_

_The younger wizard nodded in reply. "Not at all, sir. That was terrible. Why can't I do it? Why can't I block it?"_

_"No need to be hasty. One step at a time. You must first learn to block the weaker forms of the art."_

_"Can't I already do that?"_

_"You can do that only if, excuse me, someone below my caliber casts the spell non-verbally. Most skilled Legilimens have the ability to go through the mind with relative ease without muttering the spell. For an ordinary wizard or witch to manage that, is not possible. They must cast the spell verbally. Any non-verbal attempts can be easily fought off by someone who has exceptional willpower, someone like you, Harry, someone who can throw off the Imperius Curse."_

_"So," Harry began. "What do I need to do?"_

_"There are two methods of Occlumency. One focuses on completely closing the mind, locking it shut, while the other insists on using memories of mundane activities to give you enough time to fend off the attack, preventing the Legilimens from getting to where he wants."_

_"The first one is better, of course."_

_"Depends how you look at it. While it is true that completely closing the mind will prevent the attacker from getting any information on you, it is a very difficult art to master. Completely clearing the mind is not an easy task, but once you get a hold of it, you can even protect yourself while you are asleep. The second method, while not as effective, is much quicker, though it will not protect you while you are asleep."_

_"Then that's the one that you'll be teaching me?"_

_Dumbledore replied, "Indeed. We do not have much time. You could think of this method as a form of rote learning. You learn something, and then bring it to the front of your mind in the same form. That is the reason why it will not work while you are asleep, since you cannot bring the substitute memories to the front your mind while you are unconscious. All you have to do is build up a wall of memories that will serve as a distraction. The memories that you choose to include in this 'wall' will be the same that you will later use against someone wishing to take a peek into your mind. The more memories you use, the longer the Legilimens stays in your mind. The longer he or she stay, the weaker the spell gets, giving you enough time to throw the attacker off."_

_"And, er, how do I build this wall?" asked a confused Harry._

_"Close your eyes." Harry obeyed. "Now imagine a wall, a massive one, spreading in both directions, as far as the eye can see."_

_Biting his tongue, the Harry tried to see it in his mind, thinking of the Great Wall of Chine, only taller. Extremely high, extremely long, impossibly thick._

_"Now," continued the old man, "Think of a memory that you consider to be safe. If you choose one from the other world, Harry, be sure to make it one that is not about Hogwarts. A Gryffindor you is not what you want to show."_

_As Harry began to look for a memory, he lost focus and the wall vanished. Groaning, he continued searching for a memory to use, finally choosing to use the recent visit to Hogsmeade. The only problem was, how exactly did one show a memory on a wall? No matter which way he tried, it seemed ludicrous. A 'video' of the memory playing on a brick? That's it! He thought long and hard about the memory as if it was a movie playing on a television. Slowly, he increased the size of the television. In the end, he saw himself standing before an impossibly large TV screen, his memory playing on repeat._

_"Done, Professor. Now what?" he asked._

_"We put it to the test. Legilimens!"_

_The force of the spell was weaker this time around. Harry saw Dumbledore's figure appear in his mind, coming to stand beside the Harry Peverell in his mind. For a while, the visitor examined the memory that was playing on the screen. At last, the old wizard pointed his wand at the 'wall'. Without warning, it crumbled._

_"Argh!" Harry yelled as he felt the wall break._

_It was like a dam bursting. A torrent of memories gushed out from behind the fallen wall. Dumbledore, though, had immediately brought himself out of the boy's mind._

_"You have grasped the general idea, Harry, but it is took weak. It is more like a curtain than a wall. All I needed to do was to pull it aside to enter your mind. What you need to do is to strengthen it. Make it as strong as you can. The longer it takes to bring it down, the better. Once you manage that, you need to form another one just like it behind it to block the attacker should he manage to bring your first defence down. Two barriers, I believe will be sufficient."_

_Harry sighed. "That's okay, sir. What I don't understand is how to throw out my opponent."_

_"Simple. You refuse to budge. Your opponent will leave when he understands that there is nothing to be gained. In the case of an attack of the greatest force, you will need to fight the Legilimens."_

_"How do I do that?"_

_"One way, of course, is to attack him in real life. As long as your defences hold strong, you should retain enough consciousness to send a curse or two at him. The second way, in my opinion, is better. You fight him in your head. You see me in your mind just as I am in real life. That is my conscience. The you in your mind is yours. Attack him in there."_

_"Er, I'll try..."_

_"Are you ready?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Legilimens!"_

_The Dumbledore in his mind observed the wall of memory once again before pointing his wand at it. This time, the results were no different._

_"I can't do it," Harry complained after stabilising himself._

_"It will take time, Harry," the headmaster consoled him. "You need to make it stronger."_

_"I'm trying!"_

_"You have to believe that the wall will not break. You need to be firm in your conviction that you will not let the attacker in it any cost. Your defence is only as strong as you think it to be."_

_"So if I think that it's unbreakable, it'll be unbreakable?"_

_"No, no. That was just a hint. It depends on the difference in power between both wizards, as well as the situation. Here, you are safe. You know that I will not let harm come to you. People do things that they thought impossible, once they are confronted by a life-threatening situation."_

_Groaning, Harry began reforming his defence. What had Dumbledore said? He had to pull aside a curtain, did he? He set about thickening the barrier, imagining it to be infinitely heavy._

_"I'm ready," he said._

_In the next moment, the headmaster was once again in his mind, standing beside him. To Harry, there was no visible difference in the barrier. It still looked like a huge TV screen. It was so large that even with his neck craned, Harry could not see the memory Harry completely. Directing his gaze at Dumbledore, he saw the old man draw his wand again. As soon as it was pointed at the wall, a huge crack appeared. It did not shatter right away. Don't break! Don't break!_

_Then it came to him, the meaning of Dumbledore's words. He was wishing the wall to be sturdy. Why would he do that unless he knew that it was weak? The wall didn't exist. It was his mind. Here, he was practically god. Whatever he wanted, he could make happen. 'Don't break' was incorrect. The wall would not break. There was no way that the old man would be able to sweep it aside._

_To his surprise, the crack resealed. Apparently, Dumbledore was also caught by surprise as he took a step back in his mind, and turned to look at Harry. The boy could have sworn that he saw a faint smile on the face of the wizard before white light began emanating from his wand. Oh, no, Harry thought. As soon as his belief in the strength of the wall wavered, it exploded, sending shards of memory everywhere, and releasing the river of memories that had been dammed by the wall, causing his mind to be flooded by recollections of days gone by._

_"No!" he gasped as he saw Voldemort send the Avada Kedavra at him._

_"That was certainly an improvement, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking at him through his half-moon spectacles._

_"I did what you said, sir. Why did it break?"_

_"Tell me, how did you attempt to make it harder to penetrate?"_

_"I remembered how you called it a curtain that could easily be drawn aside. So I thought of it as being extremely hard and heavy. Initially, I thought that that would be enough, but then a crack appeared. Then I realised my mistake - I was thinking that the wall was hard whereas I needed to know that it was impenetrable. There was no way you could sweep it aside!"_

_"There you go. There's our problem."_

_"Excuse me?"_

_"You kept thinking about me drawing the wall aside as a sheet of cloth. You made yourself believe that I would not be able to do that. That is where you succeeded. But as soon as I used more force, the wall burst apart."_

_"But there must be a thousand ways you could bring down a wall! I doubt I could learn all of those."_

_Dumbledore chuckled. "There is no need for such foolishness, Harry. Over time, you will be able to make the wall strong enough to stop any attack on it."_

_"But I thought that as long as I thought that the wall was impossible to bring down, I would be okay."_

_"In theory, yes. If the intent of the Legilimens is stronger than your will to protect yourself, though, he will be able to overpower your own thoughts, rendering your faith in your defences futile, since it will be he who is in control."_

* * *

Harry Peverell woke up with a start on the first morning of October. _I did not just dream of my Occlumency lessons!_ Putting on his glasses, he got up and went to take another look at the notice that had been posted in every dormitory last night. Around him, most of the boys were still asleep. The boy was used to this - he either woke up quite early or rather late.

A bleary-eyed Castor Black came out of the washroom.

"Good morning," Harry greeted, rubbing his own eyes.

"What's so good about it? It's pouring outside!"

Harry pointed to the noticeboard.

"Oh, yeah!" his friend suddenly became active and tore the notice from the board. "The dueling competition starts today. No classes for us! This is, indeed, a good morning."

"Yep. Eleven o'clock. What are the match-ups?"

"Beats me."

"What's the format? Any idea?" Harry asked, taking out a fresh uniform from his trunk.

"The last time around, everyone one split up into pairs, and made to duel. That's what they'll be doing today, I presume. I wasn't unable to watch it the last time since only the Dueling Club members are permitted to watch the first round."

Not even bothering to take a bath since the water was freezing, Harry made his way down to breakfast, whistling a happy tune. When he entered the hall, to his surprise, he found nothing different, apart from the ceiling, which had taken the form of black clouds, occasionally shooting a bolt of lightning. It wasn't prepared at all. The five tables were still there, laden with breakfast. A few students scattered around the place were busy eating. As usual, Harry took his seat at the end of the table nearest to the teachers' table, filling his plate with eggs and toast. He skipped the pumpkin juice, choosing the black tea, and began to eat in silence.

He thought about the progress he had made up till now. The Firestorm was still quite a distance away from completion. On the other hand, the Silver Shield had been nearly completed. All that was left to do was make it more _aesthetically pleasing_, as Harry called it. Occlumency was a different story. He was still thinking of ways to prevent Dumbledore from entering the depths of his mind. No matter what he did, eventually the old man would find a way through it - something that irritated the boy to no end.

Having swallowed the last drop of his coffee, he decided to make the most of the free time, heading to one of his favourite places in the whole castle, the Room of Requirement. On his way, he found several N.E.W.T. students going through various spellbooks. Harry came to a stop for a moment, thinking that it would be better if he left the Room alone for now and decided to practice. _This is practice, too! Get a move on,_ yelled a voice in his brain. Obeying, he resumed the journey to the seventh floor.

Once again, he was surrounded by practice dummies. One of the improvements that he had made in the past week was that he had finally been able to cast the spell without having to tire himself out a little first. The Elder Wand in hand, he took a deep breath and swept the wand over his head, shouting the incantation. For an instant, a flaming orb hovered over the tip of his wand, before splitting up into a ring around him. As he stood there, surrounded by fire for only the second time since he had started learning the spell, Harry didn't know whether to be worried or to be happy.

Then he burst out laughing, sounding slightly maniacal. It felt good. Whenever he would cast this spell, a feeling of warmth and exuberance would run through him. Maybe this was what wizards who went mad with power felt. Perhaps this was what made the Dark Arts so seductive - the promise of power. Although the Firestorm was not, by any means, Dark Magic, Harry felt that the feeling of elation it granted him was eerily reminiscent of the time when he used the Imperius Curse. The feeling of being in control.

Holding his tongue between his teeth, Harry decided to move on to the next step. He began moving his wand like a music conductor, trying to make the fire move according to his will. The flames, on the other hand, were not keen on listening to him, and they kept dancing around him.

"Oh, come on!" Harry exclaimed. "Do something or put yourself out!"

To his surprise, the fire went out. _Okay, that was actually pretty wicked._ At least the fire had obeyed him, even if it chose the wrong order to follow. Feeling slightly encouraged, Harry went through the wand movement again.

"_Infernus Tempesta!_" he bellowed.

And again, a ring of flames encircled him, trapping him within it. 'Trapping' may not be the most accurate word. It made it seem as if the fire meant to do some harm to the boy. In reality, the fire stayed where it was, not moving an inch away or towards him. Although he managed a fire ring, it still wasn't what he wanted to perform. The flames were only as tall as he was. While they were enough to trap someone within, they were not all that impressive.

"_Aguamenti,_" cast Harry.

A stream of water flowed from Harry's wand, falling on the flames. As soon as the water came in contact with the fire, it turned to steam, the fire unharmed. A huge smile lit up the boy's face. As he saw the steam rising from the fire, he wondered what he would have done if the fire had not turned the water to steam. All his hard work would have gone to waste. Suddenly, the water stopped turning to vapour, and began falling directly into the fire. What shocked Harry even more was that the fire wasn't being put out either. The water just kept falling to the floor, and the flames kept burning.

"_What makes it superior to Fiendfyre is the fact that it can be controlled._" That was what the book had said. He had just controlled the fire, making it useless against the water. As the fire itself was impervious to water, they had cancelled each other out and were existing side by side, making it look as if the water was on fire. Harry took out a piece of parchment from his bag and tore it into two halves.

He levitated one half into the fire and watched it get incinerated as soon as it was withing the range of the small blaze. Then he levitated the other one towards the flame. This time, though, he kept thinking of how he didn't want the paper to be burnt. As expected, the paper fell through the fire to the ground. Instead of being burnt, it got soaked by the water on the floor.

_So that proves it. The fire listens to me._ It was time for the acid test. Making it clear in his mind that he did not want the fire to do him any harm, he inched closer to it. Standing on one leg, he brought his other one closer to the flames. They were definitely warm, but would they be hot enough to leave him seriously injured? Impulsively, he jumped into fire, shouting out loud.

It was like traveling with Fawkes. The golden flames surrounded him, made him feel comfortable, yet they didn't do him any harm. Looking down, he saw the fire licking the bottom of his robes. His robes, on the other hand, were still as good as before. Elated, he pumped his fist in the air.

* * *

The doors of the Great Hall swung open at ten minutes to eleven, revealing a change of setting. The five long tables had vanished. Unlike the previous stage which had been a completely rectangular, going from one end of the hall to the other, the new one was shaped like two large squares at a little distance from each other. There were raised walkways leading to them from both sides, on the same level as the square sections of the stage. On both sides of the stage were enough chairs to seat all the Dueling Club members from the sixth and seventh years (which meant that almost every Sixth and Seventh Year in the school would be here).

Harry was among the first to arrive, and took a seat right in the middle of the first row on one side, ensuring that he would have a good view of both platforms. Twirling his wand in his hands, he looked around for any sign of his friend. The prefects at the door were having a hard time making sure that no one below sixth year entered the hall. In no time at all, the Hall was almost full. As soon as Castor Black took the chair on Harry's left, Professor Klein came in with a basket in her hand.

The doors of the Hall closed behind her.

"Good morning, everyone!" she greeted, earning an enthusiastic response from the class. "You all know why we're here. Before we begin, let me tell you one thing. A few students have come to me, saying that I should have had the notice for today posted several days ago to give you time to prepare. You knew we were going to have a tournament, you should have started to practice. I don't want any more complaints. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Professor," replied the class in unison.

"Glad to hear it. Classes have been cancelled for a reason. We might have a long day ahead of us, depending on how long you people take to lose. The format is simple. Here, I have a basket. This will be brought to each of you. In it are forty-eight cards with a number from one to eight. There are six cards of each number. You pick out one card. The six students with the same number will be brought together in a group. Each of you will duel the other five members of your group. The one who has the most victories will go on. In case of a draw or a tie in the number of victories, the two contestants will duel again until a winner is chosen."

"What if every duel is a tie, Professor?" called Seamus Finnegan, eliciting laughter from the others.

"That is not going to happen, Mr. Finnegan. Mr. Black, get up here and take this basket to everyone. We have a long day ahead. One hundred and twenty duels."

Castor was handed the basket. Taking it to one end of the first row, he began shoving the basket underneath everyone's nose, telling them to hurry up whenever someone took too much time in drawing a number. While he was busy with this task, the professor continued speaking.

"At the end of it all, we will have eight contestants remaining. From there, we'll continue in the traditional knock-out style. Quarter-finals, semi-finals and a final. You lose one duel - you're out. This is the only stage where a loss won't cost you your place. Make the most of it. But remember, since we're short on time, if someone manages to win five duels even if the rest of the group hasn't dueled everyone else, the winner of the five duels will go on ahead."

As she spoke, Castor passed by Harry, who took his time to choose a card. _This one? No. That one. Maybe the other one's better._ A kick in the shin from the prefect brought him to his senses and he picked whichever card was in his hand at the time. Number 6.

Professor Klein continued, "The rules are simple. Anything goes. Just don't end up killing your opponent - or yourself, for that matter. It would be wise to keep in mind your surroundings, too. Don't try to flood the Great Hall or anything. You'll have time for flashy spells in the later stages. The duel is over when either you take your opponent's wand or your opponent steps outside the boundary of the stage. And try to tolerate your group fellows. One of you steps out of line, the whole group is disqualified."

Finally, everyone had gotten a number. It was as if someone had turned up the volume in the Hall as students began to discuss what number they had gotten with their friends. Exchanging cards with Castor, Harry learned that the other boy had gotten number 2. The professor moved around, allocating seats for every group. Fortunately for Harry, Group 6 was to sit right where he was, causing him to swell with pride at his choice of seating. Maybe he was a Seer! _No, you're not,_ told him the voice at the back of his head. _Okay._

Susan Bones and her cousin Patrick, Jenna Warwick, Hector Erasmus, Alphard Docherty and Harry Peverell made up Group 6. It made quite awkward for everyone. While both members of the Bones family were friends with Jenna Warwick, Patrick's DADA partner and fellow Ravenclaw, they had been thrust into a group which had two Slytherins in it - Docherty and Peverell. What made it worse was that even the two Slytherins were hostile towards each other. Erasmus, the lone Gryffindor in the group, was tapping his shoes as his eyes flitted between the Ravenclaws and Slytherins.

"Hi..." mumbled Susan Bones.

"At least we didn't get any Hufflepuffs," Docherty muttered under his breath.

"What's wrong with Hufflepuffs, huh?" snapped Patrick Bones.

"Shut up, both of you," Erasmus sighed, ruffling his brown hair. "You'll have time to fight later."

"I'm just asking him what's wrong with being a Hufflepuff! If you ask me, Slytherins are full of hot air."

"Mind saying that again?" Docherty threatened.

"Stop it, Docherty," Harry stepped in. "As Erasmus said, you can settle it when it's your turn."

"In case you didn't notice, we're Group 6! We won't be up for a long time."

"Do you want to get us disqualified, Docherty?" whispered Jenna Warwick. "Listen to your friend."

Docherty looked outraged.

"We aren't friends!" snapped both Slytherins, together.

"Listen to your housemate, in that case."

"You're the only Sixth Year in this group, Docherty. Better show some respect," Erasmus told him.

"You know a lot about showing respect to your seniors, don't you, Erasmus? Got two detentions for insubordination, last year, didn't you?

Patrick snorted, causing Erasmus' face to turn red. Even Harry was smiling.

"Now that the ice is broken, we can all be friends for a day, can't we?" asked Harry.

"Hey, you could learn something from Peverell. He seems like the only sane Slytherin," the male Bones mocked Docherty.

"Patrick!" said an exasperated Warwick, slapping his head. "Sure, we can be friends...for now, at least."

Harry heard Docherty mumble something that sounded like _'friends with Ravenclaws, hmph'_, causing him to roll his eyes. This was not going to be easy. The other three boys seemed to be hell-bent on trying to start a fight - something that he could not afford. Going out without doing anything was not something he relished.

"Hey, they've already started!" exclaimed Susan Bones.

Harry turned around. There were two duels going on at once, one on each stage. As soon as he had turned around, a Hufflepuff on one side had struck a Slytherin with a powerful Stunning Charm, knocking him out.

"What were you saying about Hufflepuffs, Docherty?" chuckled Erasmus.

The Slytherin did not reply. Harry was feeling restless. He wanted to go up there and do something. Unfortunately for him, it was going to take quite a while for his turn. Every group would have fifteen duels. He was going to go to sleep when he realised that the Slytherin who had been Stunned had been replaced by Castor Black, who was smiling at the Hufflepuff as if she had done him a huge favour.

As soon as Professor Diggory, who had come out of nowhere to act as Klein's assistant, finished the count to three, Castor had disappeared. _Disillusionment Charm_, Harry recognised the spell. His opponent, the Hufflepuff girl, threw a Stunner where he had vanished, but it just flew past and hit the wall. Looking alarmed, she began to look around her as if hoping to catch a whiff of him. Behind her back, the Slytherin boy became visible once again. Castor himself looked surprised. _The spell failed_, Harry realised. _At least I'm not the only one who's been practicing._

Before the Hufflepuff had time to react, Castor had sent a Bat-Bogey Hex at her. _You have got to be kidding me,_ Harry thought. _Who uses that in a duel?_ The girl's bogeys began to sprout out of her nose, shaped like bats. Everyone who was watching them roared with laughter. The next instant, she had targeted him with a Tickling Spell before reversing the hex. Her opponent, though, had merely stepped aside, evading the jet of light easily. Her aim had already been a bit off due to her bat problem.

"_Impedimenta!_" Castor cast.

Halfway through the motions of another spell, the girl froze, allowing the boy to disarm her with _Expelliarmus_ and take her wand. Diggory removed the Impediment Jinx from her. A gangly Gryffindor, some Roberts, came up to take her place, towering over his Slytherin opponent, who greeted him with a cheeky grin. Once they were in the combative position, the Care of Magical Creatures professor began the countdown. _  
_

"...three!"

"_Conjunctivitus!_" The Gryffindor began the duel.

The pink ball of light that had shot from his wand disappeared as soon as it met the Slytherin's Shield Charm. Amidst shouts of support, Castor sent back what looked like a Leg-Locker Curse. Roberts jumped up to avoid it but ended up losing his balance, falling flat on his stomach. Harry saw a wicked grin on his friend's face. _He's going to do something stupid._

"_Mucus ad Nauseum!_" the Slytherin roared.

Roberts, who had been on his knees, suddenly began sneezing, sending mucus flying onto the stage. The audience had a mixed reaction - some were clutching their sides due to laughing to much, while others were making sounds of disgust. The sick boy had sneezed on his wand, covering it in green mucus, too. Horrified, he dropped it.

"Accio!" Castor summoned the wand, taking hold of it from its bottom, the only clean part of the wand. As Professor Diggory helped the defeated boy to his knees, the victor bowed to whoever was watching. When he caught sight of Harry, he gave him a thumbs-up.

As the third duel began, Harry began thinking about how stupid it was of him to be wasting a day when there were no classes. He ought to be catching up on his sleep until his turn came. Fifteen duels for each group. Five groups before him. Seventy-five duels! Indeed, a nap was in order. Looking around, he saw that Hector Erasmus was already snoring, undisturbed by the noise of the students. _If he can do it, so can I._

* * *

"Get up, Peverell!" someone was calling.

Opening one eye, Harry caught sight of a pale girl with high cheekbones waving her hand over him. He shot up, causing her to jump back.

"What?" he asked, looking around quickly. "Is it our turn already?!"

"Already? You've been asleep for nearly three hours! We're up next."

"Right...Thanks, Warwick."

"Alright, Group 6! You're up!" called Professor Klein as Hermione Granger lit a Ravenclaw's robes on fire, causing him to jump around in panic and forfeit. "Five in a row, Granger. Well done."

As Harry followed his group to the stage, he caught sight of Hermione Granger smirking at him as she took her place just next to the stage. At the other side of the hall, Harry saw, Castor was asleep, having made a 'bed' of four chairs. From the looks of disappointment on his group-mates' faces, Harry concluded that his friend was the one who had gone through. That would explain why he was so comfortably asleep. All those who had had their turns were also made to sit in the Hall. _It's only fair. We had to wait, too._

"Let's see. We'll start with Patrick Bones and Hector Erasmus."

Harry and the other three took the chairs that had been placed around the stage, giving them a perfect view of the duel. Bones and Erasmus bowed and adopted their combative stances.

"One, two, three!"

Erasmus swung his wand-arm as soon as the professor had said 'three'. Bones barely had any time to register what had happened that he was lifted into the air and sent flying backwards by a particularly strong _Everte Statum_, out of the stage's boundary. Almost everyone who had been watching began jeering at the defeated boy. Even Harry was clutching his sides due to laughter.

"Typical Ravenclaw," whispered Docherty. "Book smarts and nothing else."

"That...was terrible, Bones. I'll be honest," sighed Professor Klein, shaking her head. "Peverell, you're up."

_Finally._ Making sure that he had his wand with him, Harry climbed onto the stage, coming face to face with Hector Erasmus, who was licking his lips. The two wizards bowed and positioned themselves appropriately.

"Wands at the ready. One, two, three!"

Just like Harry had expected, Erasmus immediately went on the attack, sending a quick Stunner at him. Harry, having predicted his move, cast a powerful Shield Charm to deflect the spell right back at the caster, who had to summon his own shield to defend himself. As soon as Erasmus' shield dissipated, the Slytherin had sent an Impediment Jinx at his opponent, who ducked. Then he followed it up with _Expelliarmus_, causing the Gryffindor to roll over in an effort to evade the jet of red light. Just like that, Harry sent a volley of spells at Erasmus, who was jumping and rolling around like a buffoon, making sure not to get hit by a spell.

"_Aqua Eructo Maxima!"_

A blast of icy water erupted from the Elder Wand. Knowing that he could not dodge this, Erasmus stopped moving around and instead cast _Protego_. When the jet of water collided with the shield, it spread out in all directions. Everyone nearby would have been soaked had it not been for Professor Klein's quick Shield the blast of water stopped, the Gryffindor cancelled his defensive spell and cast _Incarcerous_. Ropes appeared out of thin air, but were immediately soaked as Harry caught his opponent with another _Aqua Eructo Maxima. _Before he knew what was happening, Hector Erasmus collided with the wall of the Hall, soaked. Thanks to the Cushioning Charm on the walls, he was not hurt.

"You might want to warm yourself up, Erasmus," Professor Klein advised the shivering boy. "Susan Bones."

The meek-looking girl clambered onto the stage, wand in hand. Harry could sense fear. As soon as the duel began, he had sent sent two Disarming Spells at her. One jet of red light was dodged by her but the other disarmed her, sending her wand flying towards Harry, who caught without flinching. With some sharp words of criticism, Professor Klein sent her off. Docherty, the Sixth Year, fell victim to his own spell when he was struck by a _Tarantallegra_ that Harry had deflected back to him, causing him to tap-dance himself off the stage.

"Three in three, Peverell, all of them nicely done. You'll be facing Miss Warwick next."

The redhead who had awakened him earlier took her place opposite Harry, giving him a grim smile before bowing. At the rate he was going, Harry though, the next group wouldn't have to wait much longer for their turn.

"One, two, three!"

* * *

_Phew._


	12. Mind Block

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

_Harry is not a horcrux, since that was destroyed by Voldemort himself in the Forbidden Forest.  
_

_Thank you, everyone who reviewed. I would particularly like to thank Zana20 for her ideas.  
_

* * *

_(Fifteenth of October, Nineteen Ninety-Seven)_

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Harry asked, entering Dumbledore's office. _Oh, boy!_ He froze. "Er, I think I'll come back later."

A thin, pale man with a very familiar hooked nose was sitting opposite the headmaster, his face framed by long, black hair. His robes, as black as his hair and eyes, appeared to glitter in the yellow light of the fireplace. Severus Snape turned to look at Harry, his lips becoming even thinner. Dumbledore, on the other hand, was dressed in pearly white robes that matched the colour of his beard and hair. To complete the look, he had on a white tuque. Unlike the other man, he was welcoming.

"Ah, Mr. Peverell, please come in. This is Severus Snape, a friend of mine."

Reluctantly, the boy walked in, making sure not to look Snape in the eye.

"Er, nice to meet you..." was all he could manage before the man swiftly stood up.

"If that is all, Albus, I think I will return."

"Oh, yes. Thank you very much, Severus."

Giving Harry a quick look of appraisal, the man in black murmured, "Activate."

And then he was gone, leaving behind the old headmaster and a pale Harry. At Dumbledore's signal, Harry took the seat that had been occupied by Severus Snape just a few moments ago.

"I see you recognised Severus," the headmaster stated.

All Harry could manage was a nod as he watched the old man tinker with a small watch. He wasn't sure if he should be asking what Severus Snape was doing here. It was best, he thought, not to ask, since this Snape and Harry had never had any sort of interaction. It wouldn't do to just ask what someone was doing in Dumbledore's office.

Appearing satisfied, the headmaster put the watch aside and looked at Harry. "I would congratulate you on getting into the semifinals, but it was not really a surprise, considering the things that you have faced."

Once again, Harry didn't know how to answer. so he nodded.

"On to business, now. How many Occlumency lessons have we had till now?"

"Uhm," Harry counted them. "Four."

"Correct. In those four lessons, I have managed to come to the conclusion that Occlumency, for you, Harry, is something that will take a lot of time to learn."

Slightly panicked, the boy asked, "I don't think I understand."

"Occlumency requires a wizard to suppress his emotions - something that you are not able to do, whether they are positive or negative. I do not say that emotions are a weakness for some of our strongest magic requires us to feel some sort of emotion, but that is not the case here. Teaching someone to suppress their emotions can be a difficult task, even for someone as, excuse me, extraordinary as me."

Harry was horrified. No Occlumency? That meant that anyone could peek into his mind if they wanted to. If that happened, his secret would be out and everything that he had done to maintain a new identity would have been in vain.

"But, Professor, then anyone can read my mind!"

"Not, everyone. Your defences can hold for some time against someone who is not particularly proficient at Legilimency."

This did little to comfort Harry, who grabbed his head in frustration. But then he saw the familiar twinkle in the old man's eye. This could only mean one thing.

"Is there another way?"

Dumbledore reached into his pocket and withdrew a small vial, containing a dark grey powder. Placing it before a puzzled Harry, he reached under his desk and brought out a small cardboard box, putting it gently on the tabletop.

"If I were to ask you what the substance in the vial is, what would you say, Harry?" he asked, peering over his half-moon spectacles.

Before replying, Harry picked up the vial to examine, moving it around to shuffle the powder, trying to spot something peculiar. All he could found 'special' about this powder was that it looked like ash, grey and fine, with a few larger grains in between.

And so he answered, "I'm not sure, but if I were to judge by the colour, I'd say that this is ash."

He saw a look of approval on the old man's wizened face, who spoke, "Correct. But this is no ordinary ash."

_Ordinary ash? What in the world is special ash?_ Harry wondered, trying to make sense of what Dumbledore was saying. Why couldn't the man be straightforward? It was always riddles and puzzles with him. The answer hit him when he heard Fawkes ruffle his feathers. Fawkes' Burning Day had been last month. That was it.

"Phoenix ash!" Harry exclaimed, triumphant.

"Indeed. You may remember that Fawkes was reborn while you were in my office."

And remember it, he did. It was the same day that Dumbledore had told him of his plans to teach him Occlumency. He recalled wondering why birds as magnificent as phoenixes looked so ugly as babies - it was just like that story about an ugly duckling that he had heard during his time in muggle school.

"I do. Sorry, but I don't see how this can help me."

"Phoenixes, as you already know, are very powerful and very unique creatures. While a dragon may be superior when it comes to size, phoenixes possess other abilities. Everything about them is magical. Their feather, for example, can be used as wand cores, though they make quite temperamental wands unless they find their way into the hands of a capable wizard. Their tears have healing powers. And their ashes have a variety of uses. If used correctly, they can cure illnesses of the mind, even insanity."

"So how will this ash help me? Do I eat it?" He didn't think that ashes would taste good.

Dumbledore opened the cardboard box to reveal a small flask wrapped in brown paper. He proceeded to tear the paper off, putting the silver flask in front of Harry, who seemed to have realised what was going on.

"So this is why Snape was here?" he inquired.

"Indeed. Now as I was saying, phoenix ashes, if consumed as part of a properly brewed potion, have a profound effect on the mind. The potion before you contains Fawkes' ashes. It is an old recipe given to me by a friend of mine, Nicholas Flamel, in his early days. He claims to have found it on a visit to Egypt, where it was discovered long ago. It closes the drinker's mind, guarding it against intrusion by anyone. "

"Why doesn't everyone use it?"

"Not everyone has a phoenix, Harry. And even those of us who are fortunate enough to have one may not see a Burning Day in our life. A phoenix can live for up to five hundred years. Purposely killing a phoenix is as despicable an act as killing a unicorn."

Once that was cleared up, Harry asked another question, "That's okay, but why didn't we do this earlier? It would have been much easier."

Dumbledore explained, "Not everything in life is free. This potion closes your mind both ways. No one is able to read the person's mind, but at the same time, the drinker's ability to read the mind of someone else will be sealed away forever. You could say that it locks your conscience within your mind. No one can enter your mind, but your conscience cannot leave your mind to enter another person's thoughts either. Most people who learn Occlumency always go on to learn Legilimency, so they do not wish to sacrifice one ability as long as the other can be learned through practice."

"So if I take this potion, I'll never be able to perform Legilimency..."

Was it going to be worth it? Was he prepared to sacrifice one ability in exchange for an infallible method of closing his mind to intruders? Harry had never thought much of Legilimency, only seeing it as a threat.

"And Snape brewed this for you? He didn't think it suspicious?" Harry asked, digressing.

"I believe he did, but then this is Severus we are talking about. He has always been neutral, you could say. Brewing a potion is his job. What the buyer does with it, well, he says that he does not care about that."

"That sounds like him. So I have to pay him, too, I guess."

"If you choose to take it, then yes. Otherwise, he is prepared to take the potion back. Phoenix ash potions are very rare, of course."

Harry stared at the small container, holding it tightly in his hands as if it were something infinitely valuable - which it was. For a good five minutes, silence prevailed, only broken by the occasional humming of Albus Dumbledore, who had gotten back to examining the watch he had been fiddling with earlier. _Is this going to be worth it? Am I really that weak at controlling my emotions? Will I ever need to use Legilimency? _These were just some of the questions that Harry mulled over as he contemplated what to do. _Heck, can I even learn Legilimency if I can't handle Occlumency?_

"How much, Professor?"

"So you're prepared to give up Legilimency?"

"It's for the best. I've never been a fan of it, to be honest."

Once Dumbledore told Harry the cost, the boy took out his pouch from his pocket. He had made a habit of keeping it on him at all times. Counting out the exact amount, he handed it over to the headmaster, who unsealed the flask with a wave of his hand. Taking off the lid, Harry peered inside. A sickeningly sweet scent was coming from the inky-black potion. His last thought before taking a swig was if the potion would stain his teeth. It was sourer than the sourest orange he had ever had, and spicier than the spiciest chilli.

"It is best if you drink it quickly. Just a piece of advice," advised Dumbledore, who was looking rather excited.

Struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to flow from his eyes due to the taste of the brew, he quickly drained the flask, making sure that not even a single drop remained in the flask. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he waited. _Don't tell me it failed!_

"Professor, nothing's-"

Everything began to spin around him. Or maybe it was him who was spinning. Harry wasn't sure which one it was. Either way, he was losing his balance. Breathing heavily, he grabbed hold of the cluttered desk in front of him to support himself. Slowly, his vision began to tunnel. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was Fawkes taking off from his perch. Everything went black.

* * *

Harry's head felt heavy. Groaning, he opened his eyes slightly, expecting to be blind. All he could see was something white. When he moved his arms to hoist himself up, he realised that he was lying on something soft. Pushing himself upwards, he found himself in his dormitory, lying on his bed over the green blanket. The white he had seen was the ceiling. On the bed beside him, Rookwood lay snoring. The other beds were unoccupied. _It was all a dream..._

With his right hand, he searched for his glasses on the bedside table. When he picked them up, he felt something soft. Frowning, he shook the glasses to let whatever was stuck in them loose. He brought it before his eyes, letting out a gasp when he saw what it was. A red feather. _So maybe it wasn't a dream. That explains why my head's all messed up._

Hauling his legs to the floor, he tried to get onto his feet, still feeling slightly dizzy. At that moment, the door of the dormitory opened to let in a sleepy-looking Castor Black, who raised his eyebrows as soon as he saw Harry.

"My, you're up early," he commented.

"Er..." Harry tried to think straight. "What time is it?"

"Twelve."

"W-what?!" The bespectacled young man stood up as fast as his stupor allowed him to. "Why didn't you wake me and Rookwood? McGonagall's gonna kill us."

"It's twelve as in midnight, Harry... What are you? Drunk? Look at our beds. They're untouched."

Harry collapsed on his bed. His friend had a point. The unoccupied beds looked untouched. But then again, House Elves may have come in and made them while he they would have woken him up, too. If he had not been in his current state, he might have laughed, but instead he mentally cursed the dungeon for being underground. If only there had been windows...

"Oh," Harry managed to say. "I'm not drunk. Just not feeling well. So, er, I'll be going back to sleep."

Throwing off his black robes, Castor nodded. "You do that. We have the quarterfinals today. We can't have you drunk, can we now?"

So confused was he that he didn't even react to the news that the prefect had just delivered. Stuffing the phoenix feather in his drawer, the lethargic boy got back into bed and pulled the blanket over his head. In no time at all, dreamless sleep claimed him.

* * *

"So, er, how did your apparition lesson go?" Harry asked Castor, trying to diffuse the tension as the eight competitors took their seats at one side of the Great Hall, where the whole school, including most of the faculty, had gathered around the large, circular stage in the middle of the Hall to witness the quarterfinals.

"What?" his friend asked, startled. "Oh, the lesson. It was...eventful. Even though I didn't vanish, I reckon I'm a whole better that way compared to those who splinched themselves. There was a girl who lost her legs, and appeared inside the ring in midair before falling down. Good thing Flitwick was there to fix it because it wouldn't have been funny if she died."

"I see."

"Good to see you aren't drunk anymore."

"I wasn't drunk!" Harry protested. "It's just that I wasn't feeling well."

"Whatever you say, Harry."

"When do we start?"

The throng of students had begun to grow restless, asking the same question as Harry - "When do we start?" Looking around at his fellow competitors, Harry was glad to see that he wasn't the only one who wanted them to get a move on. Two Gryffindors whom Harry did not know were sitting with their jaws clenched and were tapping their fingers on their knees. A Hufflepuff and two Ravenclaws were repeatedly checking their watches. To his surprise, Harry saw that there were only three Slytherins - himself, Castor and Hermione Granger, who was twiddling her wand while staring off into space.

At last, the massive doors of the Great Hall shut behind Dumbledore, whose entrance had seemed to cast a spell on everyone because the noise in the hall died down instantly. Seemingly oblivious to this change, the smiling headmaster went to his take his gilded chair which stood in the middle of the front circle of chairs where the staff sat.

Filius Flitwick, former dueling champion, stepped onto the stage instead of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who had fallen ill. Before addressing the gathering, the short man waved his wand, causing a large board to materialise on the wall of the Great Hall behind the competitors. Seeing the students burst into applause, Harry turned to see what the board was showing - the match-ups for the day.

_Icarus Belby vs Hermione Granger_

_Castor Black vs Robert Moon  
_

_Harry Peverell vs Brent Stockton  
_

_Darrel Wade vs Alanah Weaver  
_

_So I'm going third._ _Who's Brent Stockton?_ He soon got his answer when he found the Hufflepuff looking fixedly at him. Harry moved his finger to and fro between them, asking whether they were the ones who would duel each other. Stockton, a boy in Harry's mould, nodded and gave him a thumb-up. _No bad blood there, at least,_ Harry thought.

Having said a few words, the Charms professor called on the first pair to take their positions. Icarus Belby, a sandy-haired, well-built Gryffindor, followed his Slytherin opponent to the center of the hall through a narrow gap between the chairs. Both students stepped onto the stage from the same side, so Belby moved past the young woman, going to the other end of the circular platform before turning towards her.

Amidst cheers, both of them bowed to each other, though Granger's was more of a jerk - almost as if she was being forced to bend against her will. _Of course, she's being forced! It's not like she'd ever bow to a Gryffindor._ The adopted their respective stances - Hermione had her wand-arm stretched straight in front of her face, while Icarus was holding his wand above his head with his other arm stretched in front, his hand tightened into a fist.

"One! Two! Three!"

Both duelists swung into action.

"_Incarcerous!_" cried Belby.

But the ropes that the boy had conjured were immediately devoured by a black flames that had issued from his opponent's wand. _Taking this seriously, are we?_ Harry thought, a little surprised that she had resorted to such magic from the start. Not letting the grim look on his face waver, the boy cast _Aqua Eructo_, sending a jet of cold water towards Hermione, who simply twirled out of the way and sent a burst of orange light at Belby, who managed to cast a Shield Charm just in time to deflect it.

"_Avis!"_ A flock of small birds with pointy beaks appeared around Belby.

Hermione, who seemed to have sensed what was going to happen next, pointed her wand at the birds at once. "_Oppugno!_"

The birds began attacking their conjurer with their beaks, poking him in the head and back as he struggled to get them off. Harry couldn't help but laugh. Even though it was evident from the groans around the hall that most of the student body was supporting Belby, Harry saw that everyone was at least smiling at Belby's predicament.

Granger had made a slashing motion in the air when Belby ducked and managed to cast _Evanesco_, making the little birds disappear with a poof. Before his opponent had time to finish her spell, the Gryffindor had sent two Stunners at her, causing the girl to stop midway and use _Protego_ to protect herself.

_"Ventus Ferveo,"_ uttered Hermione, waving her wand in a circle.

A blast of air shot out of her wand, preventing Belby from getting back to his feet. But not only was the wind pushing the boy down, it was turning his skin red. His face had begun to glisten with sweat. Once the wind died down, the panting boy pointed his wand and cast _Melofors_. For a split-second, the girl's face was enclosed within a pumpkin but before anyone had time to burst out laughing, she had vanished the vegetable.

_"Incacerata!" _She said.

Icarus Belby, who had begun to move towards her, froze in his tracks, allowing her to finish it with a quick Disarming Spell:

"_Expelliarmus!"_

His wand flew out of his hand and fell on the stage with a clatter before being picked up by the victor, who tossed it back to him once he regained movement. Surrounded by polite applause, she made her way back to her seat, allowing Professor Flitwick to come to the stage and formally declare Hermione Granger the first semifinalist.

"...Now we have Castor Black of Slytherin going up against Robert Moon of Ravenclaw. Please take the stage, boys."

And so they did, surrounded by rapturous students, and went through the usual gestures. The previous duel had made Harry want to go up and take part, too, and so he had told Castor to try and hurry it up so that he could have his turn. Flitwick finished counting to three and leaped off the stage.

Beams of pink and red light erupted from the wands of both wizards and connected in the middle, joining the two wands with a single beam of light, quite similar to Harry and Voldemort's _Priori Incantatem__,_ where their wands would be connected. This, though, was not happening due to twin wand cores because soon the connection was broken and Castor had ducked to send an Impediment Jinx at his opponent, who jumped as high as he could to let the spell pass beneath him.

As soon as he had kicked off from the ground, Moon cast an _Incendio_, sending a small flash of fire towards Castor, who responded by using _Aguamenti _to douse it.

"_Arania Accersi!_" Moon shouted.

A contorted shape zoomed out of the end of the Ravenclaw's wand and hit the floor, revealing a spider that was tall enough to reach Castor's chest. Unlike the time in Care of Magical Creatures, Castor was ready this time and fired an _Arania Exumai_ before the conjured creature had time to scuttle towards him, banishing it and send it over the heads of several students to collide with the wall behind Robert Moon.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" Harry's friend roared, casting a perfect Body-Bind Curse on his opponent, making his limbs stiffen before he fell o the stage's floor like a rigid board of wood.

Satisfied, he went over to his victim to claim his wand as a sign of victory. The only problem was that Moon's wand was stuck in his hand in a vice-like grip. No matter how hard he pulled, he was unable to remove the stick from its owner's hand.

Frustrated, Castor pointed his wand at Moon's hand. _"Expeliarmus!"_

His wand flew into the victor's hand, who raised it and soaked in the applause before bowing briefly and going back to his seat, where he began to boast to Harry about how easy the duel had been for him.

"I get it, I get it," said Harry. "You're unbeatable."

"Unbeatable, Harry, is a very big word, but I am rather strong, if I do say so myself."

"Er, right..." Harry rolled his eyes, waiting for his name to be called up. He was aching to duel since the dummies in the Room of Requirement did not prefer to fight back. He could see that the Hufflepuff whom he would be facing was itching to get into the ring, too. Ignoring Castor's crazy advice that he was being forced to listen to, Harry concentrated to wiping his wand with his robes. Finally, once the noise had died down and Robert Moon had been freed of the Body-Bind Curse, the tiny professor clambered back onto the stage.

"Well done, boys! Castor Black advances to the semifinals," he squeaked. "Now please give a big hand of applause to our third pair of contestants - Harry Peverell of Slytherin and Brent Stockton of Hufflepuff!"

Taking a deep breath, Harry stood up swiftly. In his opinion, he and Stockton were probably getting the loudest cheers of all. Letting the Hufflepuff lead the way, he made his way onto the circular platform, observing the audience. For a second, his eyes had met Dumbledore's twinkling blue orbs and he was sure that he detected a small smile on the old man's wrinkled face, but he did not ponder over it for long because his opponent had taken his place opposite him.

They bowed and adopted their stances. Harry was holding his wand in front of him with the arm fully stretched. His other arm was raised over his head, and his knees were slightly bent. His adversary's posture mirrored his own, apart from the fact that Stockton used his left-hand to hold his wand.

"Ready, boys? Good. You begin on three. One, two, three!"

Not wanting to give Harry any advantage, Stockton had instantly swung his wand forward to fire a _Reducto_ at Harry before casting a Shield Charm to protect himself. As the Reductor Curse soared towards him, Harry stepped out of the way. As soon as he had moved aside, though, he heard a whistling sound and saw that a jet of red light was flying in his direction, forcing him to duck. Then he was made to jump as another red light came hurtling at him. Dodging various spells, Harry found himself rolling on the ground, unable to cast a single spell.

At last, Stockton stopped. Having expected another spell, Harry rolled over one more time. When none came, he raised his head to find the Hufflepuff panting. Seeing that there was no longer any Shield Charm in front of the boy, Harry inferred that his foe had quickly exhausted his magic and needed a minute or two to recover. _How foolish._

In a flash, the bespectacled young man was up on his feet. _Two can play at that game. _Thrusting his wand forward, he muttered, "_Rictusempra!_"

Stockton, who still seemed to be catching his breath, paled as the Tickling Charm zoomed towards him. It was only at the last moment that he was able to bend forward in order to avoid getting hit. As three _Expelliarmus's_ came at him, the Hufflepuff became confused but managed to dodge them by moving his limbs awkwardly but quickly. Now he was playing the part that Harry had been playing a few moments ago, trying to avoid becoming the victim of a spell. Unfortunately for him, Stockton did not have the experience or the stamina that his Slytherin opponent possessed, and was soon hit by _Tarantallegra_, which forced him to rise to his feet and begin a tap dance.

"_Stupefy!_" Harry cast.

Finally, Stockton countered with a Stunner of his own, which met and cancelled Harry's before it could hit him. He had only just done this and sighed with relief, when he found himself hoisted into the air as Harry cast _Levicorpus_. Although he was hardly proficient at silent spells, Harry had found that whispering the name of the spell was often good enough. It allowed him to use _Levicorpus_ without fear of anyone else learning the spell.

Levitating him, Harry dragged Stockton through the air before using _Liberacorpus_ to place him back on his seat. The Great Hall, which had fallen silent as it watched the Hufflepuff being pulled through the air, exploded with cheers. Even many Gryffindors and Ravenclaws had joined in to appreciate the cleverness of the boy whom they believed was the most likeable of Slytherins, with only the Hufflepuffs looking bitter.

Taking a short bow, Harry returned back to his chair. On the way, he stopped by Brent Stockton, who was holding his shaking head in his hands, to give shake his hand - a gesture that he was pleased to see was not ignored by the defeated wizard.

"That was certainly the most unique way of ending a duel that I have ever seen," announced Professor Flitwick. "And so our third and quickest duel ends with a victory for Mr. Harry Peverell, the third Slytherin to secure a place in the second-to-last round."

_At least the final pair doesn't have a Slytherin,_ Harry thought, _or the rest of the houses might have stopped watching._

"Nicely done, Harry!" Castor thumped him on the back. "It would have been even quicker if you had followed my advice. Do you think we'll duel?"

"How would I know?" Harry asked.

"Just asking!"

"Oh, look. They're getting a move on."

The final pair of Darrel Wade, a stocky, black-haired, sixth-year Gryffindor, and Alanah Weaver, a tall, brunette, seventh-year Ravenclaw, had taken the stage, prepared for battle. Even when the countdown was over and they were allowed to begin, the two did not move, preferring to stay motionless, waiting for the other to start. For a minute or two, this continued. Some of the students in the Hall had begun to boo them, telling the two to get a move on.

After what seemed like eons to Harry, Weaver made the first move, conjuring paper planes and then directing them at her opponent with _Oppugno_. Wade, though, was prepared and cast _Aqua Eructo_, soaking the paper planes and making them drop to the ground and then vanish.

"_Expelliarmus!_" shouted the girl.

"_Impedimenta!_" countered her opponent.

"_Stupefy!_"

"_Reducto!_"

"_Incendio!_"

"_Everte Statum!_"

Flashes of light went this way and that as both competitors bellowed every spell they knew. The only problem was that neither of them was able to strike their opponent. Due to this, most of the spells had ricocheted off the walls towards the audience until Professor Flitwick erected a barrier around the stage to absorb the spells.

"_Bombarda!_" cried Wade, causing the part of the wooden stage below the Ravenclaw's feet to explode, sending her down with a crash, causing several students to gasp and cringe. The girl managed to get up, though she had a bloody nose. Pointing her wand angrily at her adversary, she cast _Melofors,_ encasing the Gryffindor's head in a giant pumpkin amidst gales of laughter. Only his nose and eyes were visible through slits in the pumpkin. Then she followed it up with what looked like smalls bolts of lightning, which Wade struggled to dodge due to his heavy head.

"_Accio!_" the boy cried, frantically.

This puzzled not only his opponent, who gripped her wand tighter to prevent it from flying away, but almost everyone, though Harry knew there was a method in his madness, something which dawned upon everyone in the audience as a broken piece of wood rose behind Weaver.

"Alanah, look out!" a voice cried out.

_Too late_. The piece of wood, which had been lying the rubble of the part of the stage that had been blown up, zoomed towards its summoner - but it collided with an obstacle. Alanah Weaver's head. The girl yelled in pain as her hands jumped to her head, loosening their grip on the wand - something that did not go unnoticed by the Gryffindor.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Wade cast the Disarming Spell, which did what it was supposed to do, sending the girl's wand spinning into the air before it was summoned by the pumpkin-headed victor.

As soon as he caught the wand, the pumpkin on his head split through the center and fell down, revealing a grinning boy, soaking in the applause. The look of exuberance was soon replaced by concern as he rushed to check if Weaver had been serious injured. Apart from the bloody nose that she had gotten when she fell down, there was no real harm done, except for a small bump in her head. In fact, she was even smiling as she shook hands with the winner.

"That was the stupidest duel I've ever seen!" Castor commented.

"You can say that again," Harry replied.

"That was the stupidest duel I've ever seen!"

This made Harry slap his own forehead. Meanwhile, Professor Flitwick had taken the stage once again and was speaking in his high-pitched voice, which had been magically magnified so that it could be heard over the chatter of pupils:

"There you have it! The last winner is Mr. Darrel Wade of Gryffindor. Now we have our four semifinalists who will take part in the next leg of the tournament, which will be held within a week's time. If you will direct your attention towards the board now!"

He waved his wand and Harry, to his surprise, saw all of the names on it vanish. After a second or two, new text appeared on the board. The students began cheering. The noise in the Great Hall increased. Harry stared open-mouthed at the board for a while, before turning his head to his side, meeting the eyes of a grinning Castor Black. Harry's lips curved into a smile.

_ Match One: Darrel Wade vs Hermione Granger_

_Match Two: Harry Peverell vs Castor Black  
_

* * *

_Over and out._


	13. Because You're a Half-Blood

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

* * *

_Saturday, the first of November, Nineteen Ninety-Seven._

In the afternoon, Harry Peverell was poring over page three hundred and ninety-three of _Shocked: The Might of Lightning_, one of _Incinerated'_s sister books, in the Restricted Section of Hogwarts' library. An hour had passed since he had stepped foot in here. After having seen a lightning spell in use in the quarterfinals of the dueling competition, he had realised something. If there was any spell that could beat his Firestorm (which was not exactly a firestorm right now) , it would be a water spell. Having his most powerful offence destroyed by water was not something he looked forward to, especially without any backup plan. And which element was strong against water? _Lightning._

The previous hour had been spent going through the book, searching for something useful. Not just any spell would suffice. If there was a water enchantment that could counter the Firestorm, there was no doubt that it would be powerful, requiring an even stronger lightning attack to fight it. So far, he had not had much success: most of the spells he had come across were fairly basic. The only reason the book was placed in the Restricted Section was probably because it was part of a set of five books, one of which was _Incinerated: The Power of Fire_, which contained details on how to use high-level fire magic.

Even in the introduction, the author had mentioned that lightning spells were not commonly used in combat since most wizards and witches considered them to be inferior to those of other elements. After all, why would you want to shock your opponent when you could bury him in the earth, or destroy him in a furious blaze? Despite this, the writer had said, there were a few lightning spells that were incredibly strong and would give any wizard or witch a run for their galleons. This statement was the only thing that had granted Harry the patience to sit there for an hour, turning page upon page without getting any result.

Currently, he was looking at a picture of what looked like the spell that Alanah Weaver had used to send small bolts of lightning at her opponent, though they missed him. Compared to most other incantations in the book, this was actually useful. Why he would need a lightning shield or a lightning rope was beyond his imagination. In spite of this spell being applicable in duels, it was not what he wanted. There was no way that it could counter a water attack at the level of the Firestorm.

_Page three hundred and ninety-four._ The whole page was taken up by a moving illustration of a wizard surrounded by a network of what seemed to be strands of thread at first glance. It was upon closer examination that the boy realised that the man had large bolts of lightning encircling him. Occasionally, the electricity would take the shape of a huge thunderbolt and move out of the page. It was as if someone had set a movie on repeat: the wizard would wave his wand and become surrounded by thunderbolts before they would concentrate themselves into a bolt and move forward. Once this happened, the cycle repeated itself.

Tearing his gaze away from the picture, Harry moved to read the information on the opposite page:

_The Levin Bolt, one of the few lightning spells that can be used as a truly deadly weapon, is said to have been created in Ancient Greece as obeisance to the Greek god of thunder, Zeus. Some historians, though, argue that the spell was created before the rise of Greek myths, and actually served as the inspiration for Zeus's thunderbolt.  
_

_As you, the reader, can see from the picture given, the Bolt does not manifest itself immediately after the incantation is said. Time is required for the lightning to shape itself into it. This duration varies from wizard to wizard. It can be as long as a minute or as short as a second, depending on the capability of the caster. Once the charging is complete, the user can direct it at any foe. It is wise to remember that the attack is a continuous flow of energy from the wand, not a simple jet of light, which means that the caster must not move his or her wand around immediately after casting it.  
_

_Finally!_ Harry was relieved to see that he had not wasted the previous hour and his research had yielded something at last. He sat up straighter and began reading forward, looking at the wand movements and instructions. It looked pretty simple and straightforward, though Harry was sure that it would not be so. He had always wondered how much easier everything would be if one did not need to practice to learn spells. Just a flick of the wand and away you would go. Alas! It was not to be, so he had to jot down the instructions on a separate piece of parchment.

Now he flipped through the remaining pages quicker than before, looking to see if there was something else he could use. There were one or two spells that seemed to be even stronger than the Levin Bolt by the looks of their illustrations. Having read through them, Harry decided that he would go with the Levin Bolt since the other spells would require even more time to learn. With the Firestorm still not perfected, there was little time that Harry could spare. Besides, it wasn't as if the spell he had chosen was weak or anything.

With a sigh of relief, he closed the thick book and pushed it aside. While he was pondering over whether or not to pick out another text to go through, the Restricted Section's door opened and in came a stubby boy - _a Second Year_, Harry thought, looking at the book in the boy's arms. He was too young to be in this place. What in the world was he doing here?

"Er, Mr. Peverell, Professor McGonagall wants you down in the Entrance Hall right now," he addressed the seated Seventh Year.

"Me?" Harry asked, surprised. "I didn't do it."

"Do what?"

"It."

"It what?"

"Whatever it is that she wants to talk about!"

"Er," the boy stuttered, not daring to look in the eyes of a Slytherin Seventh Year. "She says it's for the Hogsmeade trip. If you don't come down soon, you'll be left behind."

This caused Harry to shoot up. He had totally forgotten about it since he was so absorbed in his search for a suitable spell. It was a Hogsmeade weekend. Dismissing the boy who had been sent to look for him, Harry gathered his notes and stuffed them into his bag, along with his quill and inkwell. Thank goodness that he had already changed into what he deemed appropriate clothing for the occasion. His heavy cloak and thick jacket were probably enough to shield him from the biting cold winds outside.

_"Reducio,"_ he muttered, shrinking his bag to the size of a coin and putting it into his chest pocket before proceeding to walk out of the library as quickly as possible, without angering the librarian. As soon as he set foot outside the library, he broke into a run.

* * *

"Sorry, Professor," Harry panted, standing in the Entrance Hall, where a crowd of students had assembled. "Won't...happen...again..."

Shaking her head, the deputy headmistress answered, "It better not, Peverell. And catch your breath."

Once McGonagall had marked him present, he joined the rest of the pupils who were going to the village, and stepped out into the freezing October air. A shiver ran down his spine due to the cold. The grounds were covered in a blanket of snow, the green grass hidden beneath it. The treetops were also concealed by the soft snow, giving the surroundings a very somber feel.

After a long trudge through the thick layer of snow, they reached Hogsmeade, the wizarding village. Harry, who had been in dull spirits on the way here, brightened up when he saw the familiar cottages and shops of the village. Despite being buried under snow, the shops of Hogsmeade managed to make themselves visible to the students. Honeydukes, with its colourful building, stood out in the sea of white. A few villagers were going this way and that on the trail that ran through the center of the village. It probably had some kind of powerful charm on it since as soon as the snow fell on the trail, it vanished, leaving the trail dry.

Castor Black was nowhere to be seen. He had a tendency to disappear at times like this, leaving Harry on his own. Even though Harry enjoyed being alone at times, he was glad that his upcoming duel with the boy had not dampened their friendship. On the contrary, he had had to endure constant boasts by Castor about how he was going to defeat Harry so quickly that no one would know what was coming, and then he would go on to win the whole thing.

Quivering, Harry plodded towards his favourite place in the whole village - The Three Broomsticks, his escape from the cold. _Let's just hope it isn't crowded,_ As soon as he entered, he realised that his wish had not come true. It seemed that almost everyone had had the same though as Harry and had decided to come to the inn to get themselves warmed up. Students and older patrons were shouting their orders out loud at the same time, making it difficult to understand what they were saying.

Pushing his way through the crowd, Harry went up to the bar, where a heavyset man was collecting drinks from the pulchritudinous owner of the inn, and handing them out. Since every seat at the bar was taken, Harry to squeeze himself in between two redheads who were leaning over the counter, staring at a boy who Harry knew was a Ravenclaw prefect. They grumbled something about him being rude, but quietened as soon as Harry looked at one of them with a raised eyebrow, daring them to go on. One of them even batted her eyelashes at him, causing him to furrow his eyebrows and shake his head at her. With a shrug, she directed her gaze back to the prefect.

Waving his hand, Harry tried to get the attention of Birch, who was passing a tray of Butterbeer to an old man. At last, he succeeded and Birch looked at him, a look of enthusiasm on his face as he came up to him.

"Ah, welcome back," he greeted, shaking Harry's hand. "I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name last time."

"Harry. Just Harry."

"Well, Just Harry, it's pretty cold out there. What can I get you?"

Harry groaned at the use of 'Just Harry'. Did everyone have to do that? It was getting annoying. Next time, he was going to introduce himself as 'only Harry'. _That's not really much better._

"A Butterbeer will be fine, thanks. Two'll be even better," Harry answered, getting the same drink he had bought the last time he was here, and handed over his money. Instinctively, he ran his hand over his jacket's chest pocket, making sure that his moleskin pouch was still there.

Not five seconds had passed when Birch held out a tray with two spuming tankards of the drink on it. Leaving the tray in the man's hands, Harry grabbed hold of the two mugs, and turned around to look for a place to sit. Carefully making his way through the throng, Harry went around the whole place until he returned to a point which he had already passed by. It was now that he caught sight of the empty table in the corner. Since the light of the lamps did not fully illuminate the table, it gave it a peculiarly eerie feel, as if it was far away from the rest of the inn.

Shrugging, Harry went over to the table and took a seat. From his vantage, he had a good view of the frantic activity in the inn. And so, sitting in the darkness, he lifted the first tankard and began to sip the Butterbeer. It was so hot that he did not dare gulp it down quickly or he might end up burning his tongue. His thoughts wandered over to the semifinals and his duel with Castor. Although he was training hard, Harry knew that so was his opponent. Was his preparation enough? Would Castor have a little bit of Ron in him? Would he become bitter if Harry beat him? He could only wish not.

"Fine, I'll admit I'm curious. What are you thinking about, Peverell?" a curious voice asked.

Harry's train of thought crashed and he jerked up, sputtering, "What the hell are you doing here? When did you get here?"

Hermione Granger, holding a bottle of Blishen's Finest, was sitting opposite him, her back to the crowd, wearing an expression of derision. Her cap lay on the table and she seemed to have made herself at home at the table, pouring herself a tall glass of Firewhiskey. At first, she chose to ignore Harry's question, choosing to slowly sip the drink like a connoisseur.

"Two minutes ago, I believe," she answered at last. "There wasn't any other place to sit. I was going to tell you to get up, but it was too much fun seeing you like that, embroiled so deeply in your thoughts that you didn't even notice me."

Regaining his composure, Harry sipped his own drink slowly, mimicking his unwelcome guest. "I'm glad I was able to entertain you, but I'm not getting up."

"A shame," she waved his reply away. "You better not get lost in your thoughts when we duel, though."

"_If_ we duel, you mean."

"No. _When_ we duel," Hermione reiterated matter-of-factly.

"I'm sorry if I'm not as overconfident, but I have no way of knowing for sure that I'm gonna win against Castor, you know. You're not a Seer, are you?" Harry asked, sarcastically.

"A Seer? Please." She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Of course, you'll win."

"Trust me so much, do you?"

"Stop flattering yourself, Peverell. I have no reason to trust you."

"Then why am I walking free with knowledge of that book of yours? If that's not trust, I don't know what it is, Hermione."

"We're not on a first-name basis. And that was different. All I know is that you have a trick or two up your sleeves. Black isn't shabby, but you're better - I have no doubt about that. But the question is, what is it that you plan on using?"

Harry snorted. "Do you really think that I'd tell you that?"

"Not really," she replied, refilling her glass with Firewhiskey just as Harry reached for his second tankard of Butterbeer, her cheeks beginning to redden.

"Then quit asking."

Grumbling something, the young woman returned to her drink and did not speak a word. Harry consumed his drink without a word, listening only to the din of the crowd in the inn. He was halfway through the mug when he popped a question which had been bothering him for quite a while.

"Hermione?"

She did not reply.

"Fine. Granger?"

"Yes?" she answered, huskily.

"Mind if I ask you a question?"

"Depends..."

"Good. Why do you have a problem with, er, people like me?"

"Because you're a half-blood," she answered, tersely.

Harry sighed. "Then what do you have against half-bloods and muggleborns?"

"You're descended from muggles!"

"Okay... Why is it that you hate Muggles, then?

"Seriously, Peverell? I should be asking you why you don't despise them. For centuries, they've ruled the world openly, forcing wizardkind to go into hiding. Even today, with the Dark Lord in power, the world is still split into two parts - ours and theirs. Even today, the muggles hold more power over Britain than the Dark Lord. Why is that? Why must wizards, people with power beyond that of muggles, be ruled by those weaker than them? I have a problem with them? Of course, I do. It's not like they like us. Have you ever read about the witch hunts? They drove us into hiding, forcing us to live our lives in secret, always worrying about muggles finding out about us.

"Yet, there are fools who choose to overlook what the muggles did, claiming that they've become more accepting now. No, they've not. These things don't change. We're still demons to them - demons who practice black magic or whatever it is they call it. It was due to these muggle-loving simpletons that wizarding society declined further. Haven't you heard students say how difficult exams used to be in the past? That's because the magic in us was strong back then, before people chose to sully their blood. Why must we suffer because of the ignorance of muggles? Have I made myself clear, Peverell?"

She finished her speech with a swig of Firewhiskey, looking at Harry with a look that dared him to say that she was wrong. But the boy did not say anything. He was thinking about what she had said. While he had initially thought that the girl's ideas had been forcibly ingrained in her by her parents, Harry was beginning to doubt that. The way she had spoken, the trace of restlessness in her voice, the fire in her eyes - they made Harry realise how close her ideals were to her. She had meant every word and had not merely been repeating something someone had told her to blindly believe.

There was truth in her words, Harry knew. Muggles had always been close-minded, unwilling to accept anything that went against the 'norms' of their society. Racial discrimination, sexual discrimination, nationalism - Muggles always managed to find an excuse to oppose anything different, forgetting that the other side was, like them, human. Fine, the pure-bloods practiced blood-discrimination or whatever you might call it. Yet, if Hermione Granger was to be believed, they only did so because of their treatment in the past.

People didn't change, at least not overnight. He recalled reading something about a movement for women's right to vote. For centuries, they had not been given a role in choosing who would rule them, and had to fight a long battle to claim their right. Wizards, who had been hidden for centuries, would certainly be seen as monsters if they suddenly came out into the open. They didn't have a campaign for their rights, did they? Even if they did, would the muggle governments even listen?

After a period of silence, he spoke up, "But that doesn't explain why you and your friends hate muggleborns and half-bloods. It isn't our fault that we're born this way, is it?"

She sighed. "Just like it isn't a witch's fault that she's born with magic."

Shaking his head, Harry looked down at his Butterbeer. What little was left, he drained in a matter of seconds. In front of him, his housemate was going through more Firewhiskey. _How can someone drink so much alcohol?_ Harry wondered with amazement. Once again, the table was trapped in a web of quietness, the only sound being Hermione Granger's occasional humming. _She's had too much for her own good._

"Soooo, Peverell," she slurred. "I look forward to beating you."

"Go home, Hermione. You're drunk," he told her.

"Oh, please. A little drink never hurt anyone. You should try some."

"No, thanks. I don't like the smell of it."

"Your loss," she mumbled, shrugging. "But I'm still going to beat you. That's the undrunk me talking."

"Dream on. I don't mean to boast, but you don't stand a chance, really," Harry tried to intimidate her.

"So you have a secret weapon, huh?" she asked, smirking wickedly.

"I'd rather not tell you."

As soon as he had finished saying that, Harry had a strange feeling in his head. He closed his eyes and tried to shake it off. For an instant, he saw himself standing, alone, in a sea of gold. Then next moment, he had opened his eyes and had found the Slytherin opposite him looking at him fixedly, a look of concentration on her face. She looked oddly funny.

"Stop it, Hermione."

She instantly straightened and shook her head, looking around as if confused about what she was going to do. Then she took hold of her cap and placed it on top of her loose hair. Pushing back her chair, she stood up and straightened her robes before turning directly towards Harry.

"Nice talking to you, Peverell - as always."

She turned around gracefully but stumbled after taking few steps, and would have fallen down if she had not caught hold of a nearby chair. Thereafter, she slowed down her pace. And then she left, leaving behind Harry, who had realised what had happened. So Dumbledore had been right. Even though he had had no idea what was going on, Hermione Granger's Legilimency had failed against him.

* * *

That night, an exhausted Harry collapsed onto his bed in the vacant dormitory. In his haste to learn the lightning spell, he had rushed off to the Room of Requirement as soon as he had returned from Hogsmeade village. Practicing the Firestorm, which had begun to look quite impressive, took precedence over the new spell since he had already advanced so far in it and stopping halfway would be a waste. Feeling especially enthusiastic, he had decided to start work on the Levin Bolt as soon as he was tired of the fire spell.

To put it simply, it was not among his best ideas. Not only had he spectacularly failed to produce anything, he had ending up tiring himself to the point where he had to take a short nap in the Room as he did not even have enough energy to return to the dormitory. As a result, he had missed dinner, and now his stomach was grumbling.

What Granger had said in The Three Broomsticks inn was still on his mind. She was right. _As you sow, so shall you reap._ For years, muggles had persecuted potential witches and wizards, even killing innocent non-magical folks in their purges. Such acts were not easily forgotten. Time healed wounds, not scars. They might fade, but there would always be remnants, no matter how faint. There would always be wizards who would hold grudges against those who had tormented their kind, eager to exact revenge.

Some might argue that it was foolish, even childish, of magical folk to foster hard feelings towards non-magical people. Not everyone shared their ideas. Most people would not be content with living by the laws of people who have no idea of their existence. It was due to the Statute of Secrecy that wizards had to live restrained lives, always having to be cautious. Harry recalled reading a few newspaper articles in the 'other world', concerning incidents between Muggles and wizards which ended up in some sort of brawl. Every time, it was the wizard who would be blamed by the Ministry. Why? Because there was no way that they could touch muggles.

The incident with Ariana Dumbledore was what came to Harry's mind when he thought whether wizards and muggles could ever cooperate. No, they could not. A simple case of accidental magic had been spotted by some Muggle boys, who had proceeded to attack her in an effort to 'beat out' the magic in her, rendering the poor girl's magic unstable. From there onwards, the Dumbledore family's fortunes had spiralled downwards, all because a group of boys had seen something that they found 'unnatural'.

Though he had never had to face something so extreme, Harry had always had to contend with being 'the boy' when he had lived with the Dursleys, the boy who was despised for something he had no idea of. He had read countless stories of cruel stepparents, but he could not help but wonder if the Dursleys would have treated him as a normal boy had he not been the son of two 'freaks'. With a sea of such thoughts raging in the depths of his mind, he felt anger against muggles well up in his chest.

Voldemort - the greatest evil that the wizarding world, at least the one he had previously lived in, had seen - was also the product of bigotry. Had his father not left him and his mother, would he have turned out to be what he became? Had it not been for anti-wizard sentiments, would Pure-blood be so rampant? It wasn't that wizards and witches were complete angels, of course. There would be always be those who would consider themselves superior over all others, and would attempt to gain power over everyone else. But there was no doubt that such feelings would not be so widespread if people had just learned to look past their differences.

Unfortunately, it had not been so. There was no use pondering over what could have been but never was. Right now, all he cared about was getting some sleep to revitalise himself. With a wave of the Elder Wand, he extinguished the lamps, leaving only one on. And there he lay in his bed, watching the flame dance, until a delicious slumber stole over him.

* * *

Sunday was rather uneventful for Harry, who spent most of it in the library, looking up spells he might be able to use in the next round of the tournament. He had limited himself to basic ones so that it didn't take him much time to learn them. The idea to do so had come to him when he had been going to have a look around the Forbidden Forest after a gigantic breakfast, where he had seen something being built. On the way, he had encountered Castor Black casting random spells at a wooden stump - spells that Harry wasn't sure he knew.

It was then that he had realised that his arsenal was rather small compared to most wizards. Of course, he could cast Stunners, Impediment Jinxes, Body-Bind Curses, Reductors and a _pretty damn good _Disarming Spell, that was basically it. Those were the spells that he relied on the most - something that had not gone unnoticed by the Death Eaters from the other world, who even considered _Expelliarmus_ to signature spell. Therefore, before his friend had managed to catch sight of him, Harry had dashed off to the library.

It was only at night when something noteworthy happened.

The Slytherin Common Room was abuzz with the noise of students chatting and attempting to finish their homework at the last minute. Harry, bored after a day of study and staring at bookshelves, was lying on a couch with his feet hanging off one end, staring blankly at the ceiling. Hermione Granger, who had given him the cold shoulder all day, was busy watching Rookwood and a girl (whom Harry did not know) play Wizard's Chess. All in all, it was a normal Sunday night.

That is, until Castor came bursting in.

"Hear! Hear!" he shouted, wildly waving a piece of parchment with such vigour that Harry was sure his arm would fall off. "Gather around!"

His sudden entry had startled everyone. Harry had jumped up from the sofa, his glasses lopsided, whereas the girl Rookwood had been playing chess with, had let out a shrill scream and knocked over the chess board, sending swearing chessmen onto the floor. Even the usually stoic Hermione had a hand over her chest as if making sure she still had a beating heart. Two timid First Years had immediately run off to their dormitory, afraid of what the crazed prefect might do to them.

"Merlin, Black!" screamed the boy Harry knew only as Stark. "Get a hold of yourself!"

"What's the meaning of this?" asked Hermione Granger after regaining her calm demeanor.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Don't get your wands in a knot," Castor said, turning to look at the parchment he was holding. "Listen up: _'All students are to be notified that the semifinals and finals of the annual dueling competition are to be held on the fifth and sixth of November, Wednesday and Thursday. All classes for these two days have been cancelled. Moreover, the parents or guardians of the students, along with Ministry officials, have been invited to attend, as per tradition, and will be staying with us for two nights, should they accept. Therefore, all students are required to be on their best behaviour.'_ Signed, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, blah blah blah!"

The students, who had not even spoken a word as the prefect had read out the notice, began to scream in joy, hugging each other to celebrate the cancellation of two days' classes. Quite a few threw their books aside, relieved to know that they had more time to finish their homework for the classes that were not scheduled for Monday or Tuesday.

Harry, on the other hand, paled considerably. It wasn't just the fact that the date for the semifinals had been announced that bothered him - in fact, that made him feel oddly elated. "_The parents or guardians of the students have been invited to attend."_ That was the part that perturbed him the most. Although now he almost certainly knew what it was that he had seen near the Forbidden Forest (a temporary residence for the visitors), he didn't like the prospect of meeting up with a certain girl's parents, if they decided to attend. _No, sir. Not at all._

* * *

_And that's it for now._


	14. Of Robes and Introductions

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

_Important: I've made a few minor changes to the last few paragraphs of the last chapter. So it's best if you go back and have a look at the part from where Sunday starts.  
_

_I would like to thank Zana20 for her invaluable ideas which have helped me along the way. Thank you!  
_

* * *

_Monday, the third of November, Nineteen Ninety-Seven.  
_

The students of Hogwarts woke up to a gloomy morning. The sky was overcast and the grounds lay blanketed in snow. With the temperature below freezing, everyone was expecting the snow to start falling once again. To counter the cold, the House Elves had been working more diligently than ever to ensure that the lamps were burning brightly and that the fireplaces were replenished whenever they were about to run out of fuel - after all, even magical fire required something to feed it.

Harry Peverell occupied his usual place on the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, poking his toast with his fork. Right next to him, on his left, was Castor Black, stuffing sausages into his mouth with all the grace of a pig.

"Come on, Harry," Castor spoke when he stopped eating, catching his breath. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

Shaken from his thoughts, Harry replied, "What? Oh, yeah. Breakfast. So I'm supposed to eat it, I suppose?"

Incredulously, the other boy said, "Yes, that's what you do with breakfast - you eat it. What's got you so distracted?"

"Nothing. Forget it..."

To be honest, there _was _something that had distracted him. It was the prospect of meeting the parents of his fellow students - or at least, seeing them. Although he knew that he was not the Boy-Who-Lived here and so did not have to be afraid of people gawking at him, the nagging feeling remained in his heart. Surely, someone must have told their parents about him - the lone half-blood Slytherin, the Defence prodigy, a semifinalist of the dueling competition, and the best fried of one Castor Black, son of the 'rebellious' pureblood, Regulus Black.

_Yep_, he had created quite a reputation for himself. Not only were the visitors parents of his schoolmates, a handful of them would most certainly be followers of Voldemort. It didn't matter that this was a different Voldemort - _He's still Voldemort._ Therefore, he did not find it strange that he was dreading living with such people, even if they were just parents of other students. _Stupid traditions._

Harry had reached forward to grab the marmalade when he heard the flapping of wings overhead. Jerking his head up, he saw what had made the sound. A parliament of owls had entered the Hall, holding packages that Harry was sure were larger than usual. There were all kinds of owls - tawny, barn, eagle and even a snowy one that brought memories of his own owl flooding into his mind.

Hedwig had been his second real friend, coming only after Rubeus Hagrid himself. And she had been killed. At the hands of a no-good Death Eater. She had died in a battle that had been meant to protect him. It was only in Hagrid's words that she had lived "a great old life" that he found solace.

These thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind when a girl, sitting opposite to him, stood up and caught a parcel that had been dropped by a barn owl. Curious, he watched her fiddle with the knot, trying to open it. Every second that the girl spent trying to open it, Harry's inquisitiveness grew. He had almost offered to help her when she drew her wand and charmed the knot away. He almost dropped his fork when he saw the girl pull out something that looked quite familiar.

"Dress robes?" Harry whispered urgently into Castor's ear, before looking around to see many pupils unwrapping their own dress robes. "Why?!"

"You don't know?"

"Why do you think I'm asking you?"

"Good point. Anyway, they're here because the night after tomorrow night is gonna be a big night."

"Er, okay..." a confused Harry mumbled. "Elaborate."

"At least, it's big for some people. For some, it's not."

Harry felt like ripping his hair out. "Tell me what they're for!"

"Relax, relax. We have a huge feast on the night before the semifinals. I thought Dumbledore would have told you something like this."

"Well, now you've had the honour of telling me. What's so special about this feast?"

After taking a sip directly from a flagon of pumpkin juice, Castor replied, "Look. I dunno how it was for you in America, but here, pure-bloods are pretty, er, backwards. I'm not sure whether that's the right word. Have you heard of arranged marriage?"

"I have," Harry stated.

"Good. Look at the way they treat you, Harry. I'll be honest - it's not very friendly, is it? Everyone knows that if you're a pure-blood, you're a member of the upper echelon of society. They need to, um, preserve their purity or whatever it is. Where else to find someone who would make a fine match for your child but at a place where you have so many people of his or her age. And which place is that?"

"A school. Hogwarts..."

"Exactly! Therefore, this tournament is not just any old dueling competition. For years, this is how it's been for Sixth and Seventh Years. It's more of a social event for some people, even though that's not the aim of the tournament. The more splendid you look, the better - that's how most people view it."

Finally understanding, Harry blurted out, "Sounds like the Yule Ball in the Triwizard Tournament."

"Yeah! Quite similar, though I don't think they had parents there. I wouldn't know, the tournament was canceled in the eighteenth century. I'm surprised you know about it. "

"Read about it in the library," Harry lied, smoothly. "So that's it?"

"The dueling tournament's better than the Triwizard if you ask me. We can have it every year. Plus, there's no dance. And you have Ministry people, too. They're usually weather monitors who make sure it doesn't rain or snow when the duels take place outside."

"Ministry people? Outside?"

"Merlin, Harry! How clueless are you? The next round is gonna be out in the open. They always erect a stadium for that. And the only reason that Dumbledore allows the Ministry employees to come over is because of the fear of snow or rain, as I said before. They're a necessity, you could say."

"Wow. I see," was all he managed to say.

"Good. Oh, look," Castor said, monotonously, as a magnificent Eurasian Eagle Owl swooped down, carrying a neatly wrapped bundle, which it proceeded to drop into the boy's arms. "Package."

"Dress robes, I presume," Harry guessed.

And he was right. Castor didn't even bother with the knot and instead tore open the wrapping paper to reveal a sapphire-blue, velvety fabric that seemed to glitter. Unfortunately for Harry, his friend did not take the robes out to unfold them, preferring to use _Reparo_ on the torn paper, resealing the parcel. Harry, who had been looking forward to see what the other boy was going to be wearing, snapped:

"What did you do that for? Take them out!"

"Oh, no! Not in front of everyone."

"Stop being a so silly!"

"You show me your robes first!"

"I... I don't have any."

Only now did he realise that he, unlike everyone else, did not have a set of robes that would be considered appropriate for any formal occasion. Although Dumbledore had gotten him his uniform and everyday wear, dress robes were something he did not have. The first thought that Harry had was to sneak out under the shadow of the Cloak of Invisibility and go to Hogsmeade. He was bound to find something there. Unluckily, there were a few problems with this scheme. He would almost certainly be recognised as a Hogwarts student, even if chose not to wear his school robes, which would result in him getting in trouble. Secondly, Dumbledore would understand that Harry had sneaked out if he suddenly showed up with new robes of his own. _This is quite the dilemma. Only one thing to do. _He would have to go see the old headmaster himself.

"Too bad," Castor deadpanned before resuming his assault on the food.

* * *

A disappointed Harry returned to his dormitory to put away his bag. He had just been to Dumbledore to explain his very serious problem - the lack of dress robes. Once Harry had explained why it was so important that he get a good set of robes, saying that he would pay for them from his own money, Dumbledore had merely said that he could not allow him to leave the school and that there was no time to order new robes. Now the boy was dreading mingling with so many 'rich snobs', as Castor put it, in his school robes.

Such was his shock when the headmaster refused that he had even cried out, "But I'm your nephew!" before realising that he was not so. Dumbledore even had the nerve to say that he was sure that Harry could find something in his trunk.

Sighing, Harry tossed his bag onto his bed and fumbled with the lock of his trunk, finally managing to open it with a heave. He could not help but wrinkle his nose as he looked at the neatly folded black robes, imagining himself walking around in them while everyone else was dressed extravagantly. Normally, he was not one to regard his clothes with contempt, but this time, the situation demanded he wear something different.

So he dove into the trunk, casting the school robes aside. _Maybe Muggle clothes will suffice. No, wait. They won't. _Groaning, he was about to give up the search when something that felt like paper touched his knuckles. At once, he froze. He moved his fingers, feeling paper underneath their tips. Bemused, brushed aside the clothes that were covering something brown.

Right below his jacket, he found a parcel, just like the one Castor and the other students had received. Holding it firmly in his hands, he lifted it up. The package was rather light - so light, in fact, that he had begun to think that whatever box was wrapped inside was empty. These suspicions, though, were put to rest when he spotted a red feather in his trunk, right where the parcel had been. _Fawkes. Damn you, Dumbledore! "I'm sure that you will find something in your trunk", huh?_

Rushing over to lock the dormitory's door, Harry withdrew his wand. With a quick _Diffindo_, the ribbon around the package was cut. He impatiently tore the brown paper, revealing a plain, white box, along with a small piece of paper on top. Curious, Harry picked it up and read:

_To Harry Peverell,  
I am sure that from the moment you saw this package, you knew I that I was the one who sent it. I must admit that when I told you what Severus had charged for the potion, I did not tell the entire truth. The extra money that I received from you was used to buy what you have before you. After all, as a 'nephew' of mine, you cannot be found going around in your uniform. Use them well.  
_

Although the note was unsigned, Harry did not need a signature to recognise the slanted handwriting. If this wasn't enough proof that Dumbledore had arranged this, Fawkes' feather confirmed that the headmaster was indeed the one who had sent him the robes. Speaking of Fawkes, Harry did not like the idea of the phoenix being able to enter is trunk. _That bird's powers are crazy._ He might have to do something about that - or not.

Putting the note aside, Harry took a deep breath and grabbed hold of the box's cover. He opened the box, taking out a set of velvety, green and silver dress robes. _Slytherin colours. _These were quite similar to the ones that he had worn to the Yule Ball, having no intricate embroidery or decoration, except for the use of the silver cloth to form the boundaries of the robes. Thanking the heavens for the fact that Dumbledore, being the eccentric old man that he was, had not gotten him a bizarre set of star-covered robes, he folded the garment and placed it back inside the box, which he proceeded to stuff into his messy trunk.

_There's one problem solved._

* * *

Seven o'clock found Harry in the Room of Requirement. He was well aware of the fact that there was little more than a day until the semifinals began - which meant that this was probably the last practice session he would be having, so he decided to put everything he could into it.

Panting, he surveyed the Room, focusing on the dummies (or at least, what was left of them, which wasn't much either) as they were consumed by the ring of fire that he had managed to conjure. It had taken him an hour of constant casting, but he had finally managed to produce something that was quite close to what Dumbledore had conjured in the cave. He slid to the floor as the last remains of the blaze also died away, leaving the smell of burnt stone (something that Harry had never thought that he would smell in this lifetime) hanging in the air.

Crawling, he went over to his bag and took out a flask of water to revitalise himself. Once his palpitating heart slowed down, he steadied himself enough to take small sips of the ice-cold fluid. Never before in his life had he been so thankful for water. He ran a hand through his sweat-drenched hair, exposing his forehead to relatively fresh air.

As he waited for his energy to recover, Harry removed the parchment with the notes pertaining to the Levin Bolt from his bag to read once again. _Fulmenas, Fulmenas, Fulmenas_, he repeated the incantation in his head, as he looked down at the paper. He had only tried the spell two times prior to tonight, but he had been successful in summoning a bolt of lightning, though sustaining it had been a problem. The short amount of time that it took him to cast the spell with moderate success led Harry to two possible conclusions - either the spell was not very strong, or his magical control had increased drastically. And since the Levin Bolt did not look weak at all, it was probably the latter.

Having caught his breath, Harry carefully slid the parchment back into his bag and got up, the Elder Wand pointed at a wall. He swiftly brought his wand-hand close to his shoulder, with his arm bent at the elbow, before extending it again.

"_Fulmenas!_" he roared, feeling the strange rush of magic that he sensed whenever he tried this spell.

Before a moment could come to pass, a sound of electricity crackling was heard. A small, yellow sphere formed at the tip of the Elder Wand, which was letting out golden sparks that had surrounded the boy. Focusing, Harry began to pour more of his magic into the wand, trying to charge the thunderbolt.

Without warning, the small lightning bolts that had been encircling him were sucked back into the wand. The sphere at the tip also vanished, leaving behind a befuddled Harry. He had followed the steps right down to the smallest detail!_ Come on!_ _That was just the first try! _He could do it yet.

For the second time, he went through the motions of the spell, bending and extending his right arm, brandishing his wand. With closed eyes, he cast the spell once again. Just like before, a ball of yellow light poked out of the end of his wand, giving out sparks of lightning that surrounded the wizard. In his mind, he imagined himself sending out lightning from his wand. Although this was not listed in the instructions, he had found that forming a mental picture helped him with most spells, whether they were from the school curriculum or he was learning them on his own.

He opened his left eye to take a peek. The ball of lightning, although bigger than before, was not taking the appropriate shape. And then, just like the last time, the small sparks that were moving around him reversed their direction, returning back to the sphere, which faded as if it had been absorbed by Harry's wand.

Groaning, he slid to the ground. He could not understand. What was going wrong? _Maybe nothing going wrong, you idiot! Practice! _Maybe his mind was right - it was probably his lack of experience with lightning spells, which would explain why it always felt strange when he would attempt to cast _Fulmenas. _But still, his inability to cast the spell completely was irritating him. He had only a day left. He could only hope that the rest of his arsenal would be capable of handling anything that Castor and, maybe later on, Hermione Granger would throw at him. It was not as if he had never dueled someone strong before. He was just being circumspect - trying to make sure that he would not be caught off guard by any Dark spells.

* * *

_Tuesday, the fourth of November, Nineteen Ninety-Seven._

Harry woke up to a relatively bright morning, happy that it had not snowed yesterday. He did not look forward to getting frostbite. On his way to breakfast, he had come across several House Elves, running around busily, shouting out what Harry presumed were instructions to each other. The Great Hall was the same as ever. As soon as Harry sat down to have some bacon and eggs, he realised that something was different - there was no bacon nor were there any eggs. In fact, there was nothing except for toast with jam. Even the usual breakfast tea was missing!

"Where's the bacon?!" Harry cried.

A pale boy who sat opposite him leaned forward and said, "Didn't you see? The House Elves are all busy. It's always like this. Now shut up and enjoy your jam on toast, Peverell."

"Gee, thanks for telling me," Harry said, sarcastically.

The boy ignored him. Harry, on the other hand, was rather frustrated. He had eagerly been awaiting breakfast, and now he found out that there was none (jam on bread stopped being breakfast when he turned five). Right now, he felt quite angry at the dueling competition. Not only was it forcing him to wear dress robes, it had robbed him of his bacon and eggs.

_Hey, there's still time._

The next minute, Harry was standing at the door of the Hogwarts Kitchen, having tickled the pear to reveal the doorknob. With a grumbling stomach, he opened the door. Almost a hundred House Elves were running around in every direction, throwing pots and pans to each other and shouting out loud. A tiny Elf scampered past him, ignoring his calls. Amidst the hustle and bustle, he caught sight of Floppy, the Elf who had served him and Castor several times in the past weeks.

Avoiding the pots that were sailing over his head, Harry made his way over to Floppy, who was using his magic to move several brushes that were scrubbing white plates and trays. As soon as the Elf locked eyes with Harry, he rushed towards him and bent over with respect.

"Harry Peverell, sir! What can Floppy be doing for you?"

"Seems like you're having quite the busy day here, Floppy," Harry commented, looking at the frenetic activity around him.

"We is! We is! More people is coming today, sir. Floppy and other House Elves must be cooking for them! Everything must be in order!"

"Yeah, yeah. I appreciate what everyone of you does for us, but I'm here to complain."

Apparently, the House Elf had not heard the 'I'm here to complain' part, because he suddenly saluted Harry with glistening eyes. "You is too kind, sir. What can Floppy be doing for you?"

_Okay..._ "Er, I'd like bacon and eggs."

"What can Floppy be doing for you other than getting bacon and eggs? We is out of them."

"Darn it! Sausages?"

"Out, sir."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What do you have that I can get right now?"

"Toast and jam, sir!"

He sighed.

* * *

Once classes for the day were over, Harry and the rest of Slytherin House gathered in the Common Room, where the Head of House, Professor Garrick Runcorn, stood on a table in the middle. Making sure that everyone was present, Runcorn used his wand to magically amplify his voice, telling the students to 'zip it'. It worked. Immediately, a curtain of silence descended upon the occupants.

"Now that I have your attention, I have a few important things to tell you-" the aging professor began before he was interrupted by a Fourth Year.

"You tell us those every year, Professor! Can't we skip it?"

Murmurs of agreement went through the room.

"Silence, everyone! Yes, Miss Wellesley, I am aware of that," Runcorn continued in his deep tone. "But then again, like every year, we have several new students here, and it is for their benefit that I repeat what I say each year. Now, as you are all aware, later today, we shall be playing host to the parents of pupils from fourth year and above, who shall be arriving via the Hogwarts Express and then on the carriages. It is not much - just a feast - but I expect you all to be at your best behaviour and dressed appropriately. The Third Years and below will be served their food here in the Common Room - try not to leave it.

"A temporary residence has been erected near the Forbidden Forest for our guests. You are not, at any time, to attempt to play a prank on it or vandalise it. Also, there will be a few Ministry officials arriving tomorrow, who will be here to make sure that the weather does not go awry at any time of the competition, which, incidentally, has three participants from our house. Granger, Peverell, Black, one of you better win this, or I'll never be able to show my face to Minerva, especially considering that Gryffindor won the last time. But I digress. Have I made myself clear?"

The students, who had not said a word during their Head's speech, apart from a few groans at the part about the juniors having to stay inside, finally let their voices out, shouting out affirmatives. With a quick nod, the professor stepped down from the table and reduced the level of his voice to normal. Harry, who had been listening intently to Runcorn, checked the time. It was around five, which meant that there were approximately two hours left.

* * *

Dressed in his immaculate robes, Harry stood in front of the mirror in the Seventh Year Boys' dormitory, making sure that everything was in order. Underneath, he was wearing green trousers and a shirt which was a shade between silver and white. With the robe on, Harry realised how the colours alternated between silver and green. First there was his silver-white shirt, then there was his green robe with its silver edges, followed by the green trousers. Looking at his own reflection, Harry thought that he was, to be honest, looking impeccable. His messy hair, only partially tamed by several minutes of brushing, served to give him what he considered an impressive look - sort of like the one James Potter must have tried to get by running his hands through his hair.

"Yeah, yeah, Harry, we get it - you look good. Now step aside!" Castor said loudly, pushing him aside.

"Now look who's staring at himself!" Harry complained.

His friend, wearing his glittering, sapphire-blue robes, was rotating on the spot, looking at himself from every angle. His shaggy hair looked like they had never seen a hairbrush. Once he seemed content with his dress robes, Castor leaned forward to examine his face for something that Harry had no idea about.

"Well, look at that! I don't look bad, not at all. Maybe these robes aren't that bad, after all," the boy remarked, admiring himself.

It was not just Harry and Castor who were trying to make themselves look as presentable as possible. Around Harry, the rest of his dorm-mates were either examining their robes for any faults before they wore them, or they were arguing over who it was that would use the bathroom next. Stuffing his wand inside his new clothes, Harry left the dormitory for the Common Room.

As soon as he stepped into the Common Room, he realised that it was not just his dorm-mates who had been making an effort to look good. In fact, they weren't even close to what some people were doing. The spacious room was alive with the sound of girls asking each other for whatever it was that they used to make themselves look good. Tiny First and Second Years ran between them, carrying all sorts of creams and powders. Not being able to attend the feast, they had decided to become involved in the preparations by serving as 'messengers' and helpers. Close to him, Harry saw a small redheaded girl sitting on the floor, giving advice to a girl whom Harry recognised as a Fifth Year. 'I sure wish I could go," the little girl had been saying to her.

Harry, who had gotten used to being a nobody for most of the time, was slightly surprised by the glances that he had been getting. Once or twice, he had even locked eyes with some girls, raising his eyebrows. This had caused them to flush and look away immediately. Not used to getting such attention (Romilda Vane and the girls during his sixth year did not count), he was slightly confused. _Must be the robes. They're good robes. Yes, they are. _Shaking his head, he moved onwards. Without a word, he left the Common Room.

He ascended the staircase, coming to the ground floor. Rushing over to a window, he looked outside. The snow had been cleared, revealing the green grass underneath. Despite the sun having set, he could make out the path that led from the door of the Entrance Hall to the main gates of the great castle. It had been illuminated with several lamps that had been fixed on tall poles. Far away, he could faintly glimpse what he believed was the village of Hogsmeade.

Then he heard footsteps behind him. A faint reflection of a figure appeared in the window glass. Reacting on instinct, he turned around, one hand inside his robe, gripping the Elder Wand. When he realised who it was, he straightened. The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Helena Klein, wearing what Harry believed was a very long coat (so long that it reached her feet), was looking at him with wide eyes and her hands in the air.

"It's just me, Mr. Peverell! No need to take our your wand," she quickly spoke.

"Sorry, Professor. You caught me by surprise," Harry said, trying to look a little embarrassed.

"I understand. With reflexes like that, I can see how you made it to the semifinals."

"Er...thanks."

"That's right, Peverell. Don't let it get to your head, because the day you do that, is the day you stop trying to work hard."

"Right," Harry agreed.

"So, are you ready for the day after tomorrow?"

Harry nodded.

"No qualms about facing your best friend?"

"Not really. It's not like we have some sort of enmity or a score to settle, is it? We're only doing this as part of the competition."

"Do you intend on taking it easy on him?"

"Not really. I'll see what he can do. From what little I've already seen, he's pretty good," Harry told the woman.

She nodded. "That he is, though he doesn't seem to translate his practical expertise into grades. If he was willing to work harder, I have no doubt that he could manage an O. You're the only one who's getting one, Peverell."

Harry didn't know what to say, so he chose to remain silent, letting the Professor Klein continue. "Anyway, good to see that you're ready. Where's everyone else from your house?"

"They're, um, getting ready. Most of them, at least. Castor's all dressed up, too. So is Rookwood, I think. "

"They better get out here soon," the professor mumbled. "Are you nervous?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know - anxious, tense."

"A little, I guess. How did you know?"

"Just a guess. I'll be going then. Must help Minerva get things ready. Take care, Peverell."

"You, too, Professor," Harry said, raising his hand as a farewell gesture.

* * *

Within ten minutes, the whole school (Fourth Years and above) was gathered in the Entrance Hall, split up into two groups, one on either side of the massive, wooden doors. In the middle stood the staff, headed by Professor McGonagall. All around him, Harry saw a sea of colour - there were pupils in red robes, in blue robes, in green robes, in pink robes, in yellow robes and, in one case, robes that had comprised all the seven colours of the rainbow. _Who wears that?_ Right next to him was his best friend, peering over the heads of two girls standing in front of them. Speaking of girls, Harry never understood why female dress robes were not robes, just dresses. Apart from a handful, most of the female student body had opted for gowns.

"What's taking so long?" Castor moaned.

"Oh, come on. There's still a minute or two to seven," Harry told him.

"Can't they hurry it up?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Beats me."

"I see."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"No, you don't."

"You're right. I don't like standing here."

Harry agreed, "It's pretty awkward, yeah."

"Finally!" His friend childishly clapped his hands, as the doors flew open.

Harry took in a deep breath as he watched the doors open, letting in a cool draught. The corpulent groundskeeper, Stanton Eldridge, stepped in. As soon as he was inside, he turned back and spread his arms wide, booming thunderously, "Welcome to Hogwarts, ladies and gentlemen!"

As the students burst into applause, Professor McGonagall moved forward to welcome the first pair that had entered, consisting of a thin man with a bushy mustache, and his richly-dressed wife. The man kissed the deputy Headmistress' hand and moved on. A pretty blonde standing close to Harry broke away from the group, running towards the pair. And thus, the tone was set. For the next few minutes, men and women, some better dressed than others, stepped foot into the Entrance Hall and were greeted by Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, before being taken into the Great Hall by their child.

For Harry, who was not awaiting anyone, this was an uneasy experience. _Open up, ground, and swallow me! Open up!_ But the ground did not obey. Therefore, he had to stand there, welcoming parent after parent with a hand of applause. But his boredom soon ended when he caught sight of a familiar face. _Sirius? No. _A man with shoulder-length hair and looks that oozed a natural arrogance that was not really there had entered, wearing what was a cross between a brown muggle suit and wizard robes, including the necktie. His stubble only added to his looks, which would be enough to make most women swoon.

He gave each of the professors a vigorous shake of the hand. When he was almost done with this, Castor slid past Harry, going towards his father. They shook hands and even high-fived each other, to Harry's surprise. Not knowing what to do, Harry quietly stepped aside, following the father-son pair into the Great Hall.

The Great Hall, though richly decorated now, still seemed like the usual Hall to Harry. It was probably due to the fact that the House Tables were still there - at least, they looked like the House Tables; Harry couldn't tell since they were covered by huge tablecloths with intricate patterns on them. Banners representing each house hung over their respective tables. At the opposite end of the Hall, behind the staff-table, hung a huge tapestry, displaying the Hogwarts crest and motto: '_Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_' Everywhere he looked, Harry saw students sitting with their parents at their House-Tables, deep in conversation. Several of the parents were involved in talks with others like them.

He stood awkwardly at the entrance, aware of a few pupils pointing him out to their fathers, mothers or both. He wanted nothing more than to run away, but that might spoil his robes. But he was relieved when he saw most of the people who had been pointing at him also point to Castor and the Gryffindor semifinalist, who was sitting at the Gryffindor table alongside a man who looked almost exactly like him. _They're just pointing out the semifinalist. Stay calm, Harry. _

Thankfully, his friend caught sight of him and waved him over to him and his father, who were sitting in the middle of the Slytherin table. Harry gladly accepted the invite and strode over to the two.

"Harry, this is my father. Dad, this is-"

"Harry Peverell, yes. Castor's told me a lot about you. I'm Regulus Black. Pleased to meet you," the man introduced himself, shaking hands with Harry. "Dumbledore's nephew, indeed."

Harry, who had no idea what he meant by the last comment, accepted the handshake and sat down. "The pleasure's mine, sir."

"Oh, no. Not 'sir'. You guys are of age, for Merlin's sake. Regulus is just fine."

"Right, s- Regulus. I wasn't aware that Castor was writing about me." Harry smiled at his friend.

"How could I not write about you after everything you've done?" Castor argued.

"Kid's got a point there. A corporeal Patronus, perfect Defence and Potions grades at N.E.W.T.S, 'wicked duelist'. You leak power, Mr. Peverell. Dumbledore's nephew, indeed, as I said."

Harry, who had become used to compliments, was able to control the reddening of his face.

"Watch out, Castor. You might just lose," his father told the boy.

"We'll see about that. I've got a few...tricks up my sleeve."

"Please," Harry chuckled.

"So, Harry - I can call you that, right?"

Harry nodded.

"So, Harry, how do you like Hogwarts?"

"It's pretty good, to be honest," Harry told the man. "I like it better than my school in the States since it's much larger. You know, more opportunities to get an idea of where you stand in the crowd."

"True, true. I hope the Slytherins didn't give you any trouble. They kept doing that to Castor here in the start."

"Dad!" Castor protested.

"There was a little, um, unfriendliness at first, but Castor became my friend quite early on, so there wasn't much trouble."

At this remark, his friend and his father smiled. Harry might be many things, but he was no oblivious. He could see that Castor wanted to talk to his father about something that was private. Feeling slightly guilty for intruding, Harry stood up.

"If you'll excuse me, there's something I need to do."

"Of course," Regulus said, calmly.

As Harry went to exit the Hall, there were several thoughts in his mind. On the outside, Sirius and his brother were very similar. When he had seen the old photograph of Regulus, he had thought that Sirius had been better-looking, but now he realised that this Regulus could have been the twin brother of the Sirius he had seen photos of - the one before Azkaban. They both possessed the good looks that were considered to be a Black family trait. Yet, their mannerisms were quite different. Unlike his elder brother, Castor's father preferred to adopt a more formal tone, whereas Sirius had always been the witty one, bursting with impudent remarks.

He had barely stepped out into the Entrance Hall that he got another shock. _One of these days, I'm gonna die of shock._

Hermione Granger, dressed in black with a long, grey coat/robe on top, with her wavy hair falling onto her shoulders, was leaning over a balcony of the Grand Staircase, right in front of the doorway that linked the staircase to the Entrance Hall. But it was not his housemate that had surprised him - it was the person she was talking to - a tall and striking, dark-haired woman, dressed in a blue so dark that it was almost black. Her thin lips, her heavily-lidded eyes, possessing long eyelashes, prominent cheekbones and her pale skin - all were so familiar, yet so different. She still possessed the haughty looks that ran in her family. Holding her strong jaw in her long-fingered hand, Bellatrix Lestrange was busily conversing with Hermione.

Harry, who had been planning on going to the toilet to hide (or wash his face to get rid of the sweat that he had accumulated while standing in the Entrance Hall, earlier), began cursing Lady Luck. Now he would have to pass by them. _Should've learned the darn Disillusionment Charm!_ Only when a girl dressed in an extravagant, blue dress brought her parents close to Harry did he realise that he had been blocking the doorway. Without a word, he stepped aside, letting the three pass through. _What in the world is she doing here? She's not her mother!_

Making sure not to make even the slightest of sounds, Harry attempted to tiptoe upto the Grand Staircase and then run for his life. But he stopped when he realised that not only would he look stupid, he would give Granger a reason to bother him. _What am I thinking? Just go!_ He was being silly. There was no way that this Bellatrix would be looking to kill him - she didn't even know him, for Merlin's sake! Shaking his head for being so stupid, he confidently strode over to the doorway that led to the Grand Staircase, letting his robes billow slightly, behind him.

While he did see the two turn their heads in his direction, Harry was pleased to see that no snide remarks had been aimed at him. He kept his pace moderate as he ascended to the First Floor landing. Once he was out of sight, he increased his speed, rushing into the nearest boys' washroom.

Despite the slightly shiny appearance of his face, Harry was pleased to see that he didn't look like he had just come in from the rain. Within a minute, he had splashed water on his face, careful not to let it disturb his 'perfectly messy hair', as Castor had said. Wiping his face dry with a towel, he left the washroom. He followed the same path that he had come along to get back to the moving staircase. As expected, the two women were still standing where he had last seen them. Certain that Granger's companion was looking at him out of the corner of her eye, Harry descended to the ground floor.

His fears proved to be true as Bellatrix took a step to the side, making sure that she would be in his path when he tried to go into the Entrance Hall. _Oh, dear.  
_He braced himself, hoping for the best as he reached the bottom, looking at her questioningly.

"Can I help you?" he asked. It was now that he talked to her that he realised that he did not have feelings of utmost loathing towards her, since she had never killed Sirius. She was just a stranger. _I think I've finally got the hang of this alternate dimension thing._

She smiled and offered him a thin hand, introducing herself in a soft voice, unlike the harsh tone of hers that Harry was accustomed to, "Bellatrix Black."

_Black, eh? _Only slightly reluctant at first, Harry took it. "Harry Peverell."

"Yes, I'm aware of that. Hermione here was just talking about you. I was looking forward to meeting Dumbledore's nephew."

"Er...okay... So I presume that you and Hermione are related."

"Oh, no. I'm just a friend of the Grangers. I'm afraid her parents are out of the country at the moment, so I thought that I'd take their place. I'm as good as any aunt, I suppose."

"I see... So how can I help you? I really must be going," Harry said, trying to get away.

He heard a faint chuckle coming from Hermione Granger, who was apparently quite amused at the way that he was warding off Bellatrix, on whose face a look of irritation flashed for a tiny moment, but she expertly covered it up.

"And here I was, hoping to find out more about the one who Hermone thinks she'll have to duel. Between you and me, she's rather tense about the prospect," she said, sighing.

At this remark, Granger coughed. Bellatrix appeared to take that as a warning that she had gone too far out of line, since she raised her hands in mock defeat and spoke to Harry, "It was a pleasure while it lasted, Mr. Peverell. I hope we meet again. From what I've heard of you, I can hardly wait to see you in action tomorrow."

"Er, right. Okay, then. It was nice meeting you," Harry lied, turning into the Entrance Hall with a look on his face that suggested that he was rather disturbed by this dignified incarnation of his godfather's murderer. But he knew that she would not let him off the hook so easily. They would meet again.

* * *

An hour later, Harry left the Great Hall as a happy, young man. Not only had he been able to satisfy his craving for bacon, but he had satisfied his unbridled appetite through portions of turkey, chicken and his favourite - treacle tart. The only problem that he had faced was trying to resist the temptation of the strangest delicacy he had ever seen - roasted hippogriff. Despite its divine scent, he had been unable to bring himself to eat it since it would have been like consuming Buckbeak, who had saved his life. Along with the hippogriff, the only thing that he had left untouched was the firewhiskey, bottles of which had been charmed so that no one under the age of seventeen would have been able to consume it.

Dumbledore had made the usual speech in which he welcomed everyone to Hogwarts, wishing them a comfortable stay at the castle. Harry had to hand it to the headmaster - he had not shown the slightest anger or irritation at the presence of three Ministry wizards (the weather monitors).

He had been on his way to the dungeons when he heard something that made him stop in his tracks and step aside to hide behind a pillar.

"How does it feel to be a blood traitor's son, Black?" a raspy, slightly slurred voice was saying. "Feel...different? Unable to blend in?"

"What did you say, Rookwood?" threatened another voice, one which Harry recognised as belonging to Regulus Black.

"You know what I mean, Regulus. Look at yourself. When you tied that noose around your neck, you let yourself be dragged off into the muggle-loving world."

"It's called a tie, Augustus. And there's nothing wrong with muggles. At least I haven't let myself be brainwashed. At least I don't have any illusions of grandeur!" Regulus was saying, his voice rising.

"Stop it, Dad. Let's just go," Harry heard Castor plead. "He's just drunk."

"What did you call me, kid?" asked Augustus Rookwood, a hint of a threat in his tone.

"He said that you're drunk, Augustus, and he's right. I could smell it a mile away. You're worse than others of your kind - at least they don't stink. Let's go, son.",

Harry, from his position behind the pillar, heard two people turning around and take a few steps, before Rookwood laughed, saying, "But I'm still here, aren't I, even if I'm drunk? Shame that the same can't be said of your brother. Wasn't he - what's the word - intoxicated, too?"

The footsteps stopped at once. Harry imagined the two Blacks looking at Rookwood with glares that promised pain. Unfortunately, the third man was either too brave or too stupid:

"And what about your wife? Killed by a drunk Muggle. A shame."

"You piece of-" was all that Regulus said before Harry heard a resounding crash.

"Dad!" Castor yelled. "Why did you do that?!"

"Didn't you hear what he said?!" his father roared.

"I did, damn it! But your heard him - he was drunk! It's because of you 'differences' that I've never been able to completely fit in here, but I always managed. Now his son's gonna turn all of them against me! Thanks a lot!"

"Castor, please!" Harry heard Regulus implore.

Hurried, thumping footsteps came closer to Harry, who moved aside a little bit, trying to make sure that he would not be seen. Castor, his jaw and fists clenched, hurried past the pillar behind which his friend had concealed himself. Harry had been unable to see the boy's face, but he was sure that it was not a happy expression that he would find there.

Taking a deep breath, Harry finally stepped out from the shadow of the pillar and went ahead, turning a corner. Regulus Black, standing with his shoulders slumped, was staring down at the unconscious body of the tall, grey-haired Augustus Rookwood, whose left cheek was red. _That's where he was punched._ The man's hair had a small red spot at the back - blood.

When he heard Harry come up behind him, Regulus Black looked over his shoulder, a solemn look on his face. "You heard everything?"

Harry merely nodded, causing the older wizard to sigh. "I didn't want this for him, Mr. Pe- Harry."

"I'm sure you didn't, but not everything goes according to plan," Harry said. "Rookwood was asking for it."

"But he was drunk..."

"Which made him tell you how he really felt about you. As I said, he was asking for it."

"That won't make much of a difference now. I only ever wanted to protect him from the way most of our kind think. Is that wrong? I've tried to be a good father ever since we lost Amelia, but I've gone and ruined it all. He's always blamed me for his 'differences'."

"But he still loves you, Regulus, in spite of what he might say," Harry tried to comfort the man, who had lost the confidence Harry had seen in him when he first laid eyes on him. "You're the only family he can rely on."

"How would you know?"

"I just do. Besides, we can fix this mess."

"Excuse me?"

"It's simple," Harry said, drawing his wand.

"You're helping me?" Regulus asked, looking incredulous.

"I know what it's like to be discriminated against. Now allow me to demonstrate," Harry succinctly said, waving his wand. "_Evanesco." _

The small stain of blood vanished.

"You're a strange young man, Harry," Regulus whispered, looking at him.

"I've been told. _Obliviate_!" Harry cast the Memory Charm, thinking that he wanted Augustus Rookwood to forget the events of the last ten minutes. His wand glowed as the memories were wiped from the man's mind.

"If you don't mind my saying this, you're Dumbledore's nephew through and through. The way you just disregarded the rules..." Regulus' voice trailed off. "But Castor'll still be angry with me."

Harry shrugged, locking eyes with the man. "Give him time. He'll realise soon enough."

"You think?"

"I know. Now we better be off before I revive him."

"Er, right. Well, then. Thank you... So are you sure that this is going to stay secret?" Regulus inquired, turning around.

"Don't worry. It's safe with me."

With an expression of gratitude, the man turned around and walked away, leaving Harry alone with the unconscious father of Everard Rookwood. Half of him wanted to kick the man for saying what he had said. It had been like Dudley all over again. But he knew that it was not his position to hand out 'justice'. Therefore he stuck to the original plan.

"_Aguamenti,_" he cast, forming a puddle of water on the floor, directing some of it to the man's shoes. "You just had a nasty slip."

After doing this, he walked back to the corner from where he had turned. But before going around it, he pointed the Elder Wand at the man one last time, whispering the Reviving Spell:

"_Reviresco._"

* * *

_And it's done. I hope you all liked it. _


	15. The Round Before the Last Round

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

_The reason I didn't use Rennervate as the Reviving Spell is because it's the counter spell to Stupefy (which was not used here).  
_

_And no, this is not a Harry/Bellatrix story - she's old enough to be his mother.  
_

* * *

_Wednesday, the fifth of November, Nineteen Ninety-Seven._

"Oh, forget about it, for Merlin's sake," Harry said, frustrated. "He's your father!"

"Stinkin' blood traitor of a father, you mean," Castor sulked.

Feeling a rush of anger, Harry jumped up and punched his friend.

It was still quite early. Harry, having slept for only a few hours, had chosen to come to the Common Room since he was unable to embrace slumber. His mind was on a lot of things - Bellatrix Black, Regulus Black's short altercation, Castor's angst and the impending semifinals, where he would be facing off against the aforementioned sulky boy. He had been lost in his thoughts when his soon-to-be opponent also decided to visit the Common Room because the Sandman refused to claim him.

At first, both of them had sat in silence, staring into the fire, which was still roaring. It was then that Harry, against his better judgment, had touched the topic of Castor's relationship with his father, encouraging him to patch things up as soon as he could. It wasn't his father's fault that almost all of Slytherin was made of bigots. Unfortunately, his friend did not seem to care, convinced that it was due to Regulus' choices that his son was shunned by his house for most of his early years at Hogwarts.

"What did you do that for?!" Castor shouted, rubbing his cheek and glaring at the person who hit him.

"Don't - ever - say that again!" Harry threatened.

"You heard Rookwood, didn't you?"

"Since when did you become like Rookwood? I thought you hated their ways!"

"I do!" his friend defended himself, angrily. "But it gets difficult to bear their insults silently when they're so candid about how you're a piece of shit!"

Harry felt like tearing his hair out. "Stop being so childish!"

"Why does it bother you so much, huh? It's not like you have a blood traitor for a father!"

"I don't have a father, you prick!"

Without thinking, his friend snapped, "Then you're lucky!"

That was it. That was all that was needed to expel Reason from her throne. As Anger claimed his mind, Harry lunged for the boy, his fist clenched. Catching him by surprise, he delivered another punch - this time to the stomach - which nearly winded him. Gasping for air, Castor pushed Harry off with a kick to the chest. Clutching his chest, Harry pointed an accusatory finger at the boy.

"You're going to far. You hear me?"

Still rubbing his stomach, Castor replied, "That...was a mistake. I shouldn't have said that. But that still doesn't change my opinion about my own father."

"What have you been drinking?"

"What do you mean?"

"This isn't how you used to be. Just because that idiot, Rookwood, said something to you, you're getting all worked up. Have you thought that this may have been his plan? Maybe he wanted to create discord between you two!" Harry tried to explain.

"Then his plan worked," the other boy growled. "It doesn't matter, does it? In a few hours, everyone will know what happened last night. I can see it now: 'Castor Black - Son of The Blood Traitor Who Attacked a Pure-blood.'"

"That won't happen!"

"Why not?"

Harry tried to put on a smile on his face, but it just wouldn't come.

"Because old Rookwood doesn't remember what happened!"

The look of ire on Castor's face vanished, replaced by befuddlement. "What do you mean?"

"It doesn't matter, does it?" Harry mimicked the boy.

"Tell me!"

"Oh, let's just say that Rookwood now thinks that he slipped on some water and his head got knocked into a wall."

"Not only were you listening to us argue, but you even interfered!" Castor accused.

_Gee, you're welcome. _"Hey! I just happened to pass by, as I told you. Can't a guy help his friend, even though this friend is an idiot? You're the one who was crying about being mistreated and all that."

"But you didn't have to meddle."

Harry sighed. "You're impossible. Just... just make up with your father, okay? If what you told me is true, do you really think that you have anyone else in your family whom you can trust? Exactly, I thought not. I understand that you're hurt that your mom was...er...attacked by a Muggle, but that doesn't give you reason enough to hate all of them, does it? So what if you're dad's a 'Muggle-loving fool'? Look at Dumbledore - isn't he one of those, too? I'd say it's pretty good company. And because Rookwood taunted you, that just goes to show that you're right."

Castor, who had been silently listening to his friend's speech, all the while using the poker to play with the coal in the fireplace, sighed. He looked to be in deep thought. Harry hoped that his words would have some sort of profound effect. Finally, Castor spoke:

"Look. I understand that you were trying to help, but you didn't need to to. You saved me from that tarantula, and for that, I will forever be grateful. But you don't need to make saving people a habit of yours. Sometimes, it's best if you leave them be. I won't call Dad any of those names again. Hold on, don't look so happy. _But,_ I still think that he's to blame. It's because of him that Mom died. If he hadn't insisted on going to that football game as complete Muggles - without any wands - there was no way that that drunken piece of shit would have tried to rob them."

Harry, who had mentally slapped his forehead, stayed silent. No matter how unreasonable his friend was being - blaming his father for something that he had no control over - he didn't think it right to make any comments at this moment. He would take the boy's advice. If he didn't want Harry help, he wouldn't get it. Why did he care what went on between Castor and Regulus? Perhaps it was the fact that he had never known his father, and didn't want someone else to feel that pain. Maybe it was just because Regulus reminded him so much of Sirius. Shaking his head to push the thoughts to the back of his mind, Harry got up.

"I'm going to the bathroom."

* * *

When Harry entered the Great Hall at breakfast, he found that it was still decorated in the same way as last night. And once again, no one below fourth year was allowed to sit in the Hall since it wasn't large enough to accommodate all of Hogwarts' students along with a throng of parents. Therefore, to the disappointment of some and to the pleasure of others, the Third Years and below would be served breakfast in their Common Rooms.

As he took his place at the seat which was closest to the Hall's doors, he scanned the table to see whether Castor had made it to breakfast. Although Harry had managed to catch some more sleep after the eventful discussion with the other boy, he didn't know what the other one had done. When he had woken up, he had found Castor's bed empty. '_Just don't do something stupid' _had been his first thought. As expected, Castor was nowhere to be seen at the table.

Most of the students had decided to keep their attire less formal this time around, choosing to wear their school robes or the plain clothes that they would wear on weekend trips to Hogsmeade. Even most of the guests had toned down the formality, dressed in things that Harry believed were more comfortable than dress robes. It wasn't that dress robes were very uncomfortable - it was just that they required a lot of care. Though he had worn them only a few times in his life, he had become familiar with the desire to keep them clean and free of any stains.

He had grabbed some slices of French toast and piled marmalade on them. He found it funny that just yesterday, he had been craving bacon and eggs but was only able to get toast, and now that he had the option of bacon and eggs, he had chosen toast and marmalade. Life was funny like that at times. He had only taken a few bites when he felt something brush his leg. _What the- _Something was tugging at his robes. Cautiously lifting the tablecloth, he peered underneath the table. The only thing that stopped him from yelping was the fact that he still had some food in his mouth.

It was not something, but someone. Seamus Finnegan, the sandy-haired Gryffindor, to be exact, was staring up at him with a finger pressed to his lips, signaling Harry to stay silent. Trying to make everything look normal, Harry took another bite of his toast while the Gryffindor searched his pockets for something. It was a piece of paper which Finnegan stuffed into Harry's hand. As soon as he had passed it to Harry, Seamus made Harry lower the tablecloth before crawling away.

_That was weird._

Puzzled, Harry looked at the crumpled paper. Someone with very bad handwriting had scribbled a message on it:

_Four of us Gryffindors have our money pegged on you, Peverell. Don't disappoint us._

_-S.F  
_

Harry didn't need to be a sleuth to figure out who 'S.F' was. The boy had just given him the paper in the strangest possible way! It was the fact that the Gryffindors had betted on him that surprised him. But then again, he realised, it was silly of him to be shocked by this. After all, he had given them no reason to doubt his capabilities. Still, he was surprised that they were not supporting their own representative. If Seamus and the three unnamed Gryffindors had bet on him, there was no reason to doubt that there must be others who would have done the same. It was as if everyone expected him to defeat Castor, even if he didn't win the whole thing. _Where is that idiot, anyway?_

He was unable to ponder over the whereabouts of the boy for long as he saw Augustus Rookwood enter the Great Hall, dressed in grey robes which appeared to be quite expensive despite the lack of any embellishments. What pleased Harry was the part where the man rubbed his temple with a slight grimace marring his otherwise forgettable face. For the briefest of moments, the eyes of the two wizards met. Instantly, Rookwood turned away, embarrassed at the display of pain in public. Harry had to force himself not to smile.

* * *

It was at one in the afternoon that Harry, wearing his school robes with the Slytherin emblem glittering on his chest pocket, left the castle for the Quidditch pitch - at least, he thought that that where he was going - along with Hermione Granger and Darrel Wade, the Gryffindor, led by the groundskeeper. Even at this hour, a dense fog covered the grounds, making it difficult for Harry to see where they were actually going. When the Forbidden Forest came into view, though, he became sure that the Quidditch pitch was not their destination. He followed the three around the edge of the dense woods, wondering where Castor was. To be honest, he had become a little worried now. Neither Castor nor Regulus had been spotted by him since he woke up.

And then he saw it. It was quite similar to the stadium that had been used for the First Task in the Triwizard Tournament, with its tall walls looming out of the fog. When he had drawn closer, Harry had a better view of the stadium. It was not overly massive, but it was large enough to impress Harry, who wondered how they had brought the brick structure here without the students knowing. _Magic._ But then again, it was possible that the students knew about this, since the tournament was held every year. It was only him who was surprised by the arena.

At last, they halted before a door without a doorknob. The groundskeeper, Eldridge, knocked twice. They stood there in the cold, waiting for something to happen. Harry could hear sounds coming from inside the arena and he wondered whether this door would directly lead all of them into the stadium's heart, before the eyes of the whole school.

"Hey, Mr. Eldridge," Harry asked, getting a grunt in return. "Is the whole school already in the stands?"

"What? No. Not yet. They're still coming in through the other side."

_Same thing. They're all in there._ This was it. This was his chance to shine. _As if you haven't shone enough, you dolt._ The voice in his head did have a point - it wasn't as if he had kept a low profile. His train of thought was derailed and sent crashing when a voice shook him out of his musings.

"Peverell, are you coming inside or do you want to freeze out there?"

Shaking his head to clear it, he saw Hermione Granger standing inside the door, looking irritated with his lack of attention to the surroundings. To his surprise, he found that a doorknob had manifested itself on the door. He hastily replied that there was no way that he'd brave the cold, and rushed inside.

It was toasty inside. Although there was not a lot of furniture or any decorations, the room exuded warmth. Maybe it was the large fireplace that hosted a roaring fire. Or perhaps it was just the fact that he had been standing in the frigid outdoors just a few moments ago. There were four armchairs placed in front of the fire. The floor was made of the same stone as three of the walls. The fourth wall was the most interesting feature of all. In fact, Harry wouldn't even have known that there was something there if it had not been for the lack of any wind blowing. The wall opposite the door they had entered from was transparent, providing the room's occupants with a perfect view of the outside arena. Through it, Harry saw that the stadium beyond it had almost filled.

"Is that glass?" Wade was saying, echoing Harry's thoughts.

Eldridge chuckled. "No, it's solid stone, boy. Just something that Dumbledore did to it so you can see the action outside from the comfort of this room. To the chaps outside, it's nothing but stone."

"Really?"

"Don't have to take my word for it, you know. Go ahead and touch it."

Tentatively, the Gryffindor went forward and reached out. His arms kept extending until it came to a halt, at which point a door materialised in one corner of the wall, eliciting a gasp from the three students. Then the boy made a fist and knocked on the invisible barrier.

"Ouch!" he groaned, rubbing his red knuckles. As soon as he had withdrawn his hand, the door vanished.

"Believe me now?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's pretty neat."

_Neat?_ Harry thought. _It's genius. _

"Well, then," the caretaker said. "I'll leave you folks to it. I've gotta look for Black."

With that, Eldridge left, leaving behind the three competitors in an atmosphere of tension and hostility. It was quite obvious to Harry that being a Gryffindor, the other boy did not enjoy being left in the company of two Slytherins, even if one of them had gained a reputation for being unlike the others when it came to attitude. Hermione Granger, who had taken a seat on the chair at the extreme right, did not even bother looking at the two other occupants of the room, choosing to stare at the crackling flames, muttering under her breath.

Harry slumped into the chair on the extreme left, thinking about what Eldridge had just said. _I've gotta look for Black. _He had been hoping that Castor might have made it to the stadium before them and when they had knocked on the door, a part of him had wished that his friend would be the one to answer. It wasn't like him to disappear like this.

After a while, the door rematerialised in the corner of the transparent wall, causing everyone to jump up. They had not been looking outside and now that the door was standing there, they were unable to see who was behind it. It opened, letting in Professor Helena Klein, who, to Harry's surrpise, was not draped in scarves. He had thought that it would have been biting cold out there. _Must be those weather wizards._

"Good afternoon," she greeted with a smile.

"Afternoon," Harry replied, standing up.

"Take a seat, Peverell. It's quite alright," she said, coming to stand in front of the three, in the center of the semicircle formed by the armchairs. "Where's Black?"

"We...don't know," Harry mumbled.

"What?!"

"I haven't seen him today."

"If he doesn't get here before you two duel, I'm going to give him detention for the rest of the year, scrubbing pans in the kitchen."

Just then, the other door (the one through which the three students had entered) burst open, letting in Castor Black, perfectly dressed in his school robes, looking as healthy as ever, aside from his eyes, which looked like they had not slept much.

"Hope I wasn't late, Professor," he announced. "I lost track of time."

_Talk about a dramatic entrance, _Harry thought, staring at him incredulously. Castor returned his glare with a smile and a short wave before he took his seat between Harry and Wade.

"So, what did I miss?" he asked.

"Er..." Professor Klein started, taken aback by his behaviour. "We were just talking about you. Glad you could join us, Black. I was about to brief you."

"Don't let me stop you, Professor."

Shaking her head, the woman continued, "I will not. As I was saying, I'm going to brief you on what you're supposed to do out there. The rules are no different than before, aside from the fact that now one loss will mean that you're out. There are no repeats unless a duel ends in a tie. You lose only when your opponent captures your wand. As always, there are no restrictions on what spells you can or cannot use, as long as you don't purposely kill anyone. Am I getting through to you?"

When they all nodded, she moved on, "First up, it's going to be Wade and Granger's turn. You two are going to enter the arena through the door I came in. You just have to touch the invisible wall to make it appear. Once you've taken your positions, the countdown begins. On the count of three, you begin. After you're done, you return to this room unless you were so grievously wounded that you require attention in the Hospital Wing. When you, Peverell and Black, are called out, you do the same. Clear?"

"Clear!" they all replied in unison.

"Good. Then I'll cast the charm on the wall."

She waved her wand. The sounds of the crowd filled the room. Harry could sense that the people were impatient. Yet, the sounds were oddly muffled. While it was true that there was a layer of stone between the crowd and him, Harry knew that this wasn't how people sounded like from across stone walls, having lived in Hogwarts for a long time.

"Isn't the sound muffled, Professor?" he voiced his concern.

"Good ears, Mr. Peverell. That's so you can listen to what goes on in the middle when the duel begins. Those sounds won't be drowned out by the crowd."

Understanding, Harry nodded. With a flourish, the professor strode over to where the invisible wall stood, tapped it and left through the door, leaving behind the four pariticipants. The only sounds that prevented silence from claiming the room as its own were made by Wade and Granger, as they prepared themselves, muttering under their breath. Their wands were out as they paced - at least Wade was pacing. Granger was walking around with a bored expression on her face.

He heard someone clear their throat. He turned his head and saw the Defence professor standing outside, address the crowd. Immediately, he stood up and turned his chair around and then retook his seat. Castor, who had not said a word, followed suit. Even the remaining two students stopped moving and looked out through the wall.

"-and I welcome you to this year's semifinals," the woman was saying. "As always, only the finest four have been chosen to compete in today's leg of the tournament. As everyone is familiar with the rules, I will move on to the names of the contestants. They are Darrel Wade of Gryffindor, and Hermione Granger, Castor Black and Harry Peverell - all three of Slytherin."

At the mention of the names, the crowd burst into applause. Harry could sense thunderous clapping from every part of the stadium, which meant that even the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were giving them a big hand.

"Without further ado, please welcome the first two contestants. Mr. Wade and Miss Granger!"

Taking a deep breath, the Gryffindor made his way to the invisible barrier and tapped it, causing the door to manifest itself again. He went through it with Granger following him. As soon as both of them were out, Harry heard the sound of clapping and what he assumed must have been deafening applause. Now he and his friend were alone. This was as good a time as any to ask where Castor had been.

"Hey, Castor," he started.

"Yeah?" the boy answered, not taking his eyes off the transparent wall.

"Where have you been all morning?"

"Good question. I've been up to...stuff."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What kind of stuff, if I may ask?"

"Sheesh, don't get your wand in a knot. I was just making sure that I was ready for today."

"That doesn't explain why you weren't at breakfast - you never miss an opportunity to stuff yourself silly."

"Says the guy who showed me the kitchens, which is where I was, by the way."

"Oh, I thought you were..." Harry's voice trailed off.

"That I was pissed off about what happened earlier? Forget about it. You have bigger things to worry about," Castor grinned.

"We'll see about that."

Outside, both contestants, trying to drown out the crowd's cheers, made their way to the middle of the arena. There was no platform or stage, unlike the earlier rounds. The whole arena was the stage, which, Harry knew, provided contestants the chance to move around freely without fear of stepping beyond the boundaries. From Harry's point of view, Wade was standing on the right and Granger on the left. He straightened in his chair as both students walked closer to each other, wands held in front of their faces Having bowed, they moved apart again and adopted their stances: Granger had her right arm at shoulder level, with her wand held in such a way that it reached over her left shoulder, her arm passing in front of her face. Wade had a more common stance, with his left, wand arm extended and the right arm behind his head.

There was no sound from the crowd. _You could hear a pin drop_, Harry mused. And then Professor Klein's voice echoed, though he could not see her:

"On the count of three. One, two, three!"

The crowd exploded as Hermione Granger brought her wand forward, making a quick slashing motion in the air. Her wand traced black lines in the air. Once she was done, she thrust out her hand. The lines that she had traced flew swiftly towards Wade, who cartwheeled out of the way - something that impressed Harry, considering the fact that the boy did not look rather athletic.

The next moment, Granger had repeated the spell or whatever it was, sending the glowing, black patterns hurtling at the boy, who was forced to summon a shield using _Protego._ Her spell collided with the shield, dissipating it. The shield, though, had done its work and protected the wizard, who thrust his wand outward.

_"Aqua Eructo!"_ he roared.

A jet of water shot out from the end of his wand, making its way towards the young woman, who merely responded by a mere flourish of her wand. The jet of water, which had been hurtling towards her, suddenly diverted its direction, shooting straight up instead of at the witch. This seemed to annoy Wade to no extent, as he cast the spell again. Just like before, the water was forced to change its direction by an invisible barrier. _Don't lose focus, you dolt!_ Harry criticised the Gryffindor in his mind. _Try something else._

It was as if Wade had read his mind because the next moment, he had aimed a Full Body-Bind Curse at Hermione, who was forced to move in order to avoid the oncoming spell. Before the boy had time to fire another spell, though, Granger had made an extravagant gesture with her wand and shouted out, _"Glacio!"_

A beam of ice of emerged from the tip of her wand, heading for Wade, who countered it with _Incendio._ Although the fire spell had been successful in melting the ice at first, the flames soon disappeared as the water from the melted ice got the better of them. Now the renewed beam of ice was making its way towards the wizard who moved aside to dodge. But then Granger moved her wand and, along with it, the stream of ice. The next several seconds had the ice and Wade play cat and mouse, respectively, with the boy running around to protect himself, causing Hermione to keep rotating, making sure that the boy didn't slip out of her grasp.

Finally, the ice beam stopped. Whether it was because the witch had used up the spell's time limit or she had decided that she would never be able to get the boy through it was debatable. But the fact was that the ice had stopped. Wade came to a halt, looking relieved and red from embarrassment. The crowd around him was roaring with laughter at his efforts to evade the ice. Panting, he raised his wand.

"_Conjunctivita!_"

A flash of pink light appeared and flew at Hermione Granger who had to cast a basic Shield Charm in order to protect her eyes. The next second, Wade had waved his wand once again.

"_Ventus!_"

A gust of wind blew. Though Harry could not sense it, he knew it was there since the girl's hair and robes were whipping around. She was shielding her eyes with her left arm, trying to protect them from the dust that the wind had raised. _That's the way to do it,_ Harry thought. But he knew that Hermione Granger would not be going down without a fight.

_"Ventus_ _Ferveo!_" her voice sounded over the whistling of the wind.

It was as if the wind had changed direction. Now Granger's robes and hair settled down and instead, it was the Gryffindor who was having dust blow in his face. Harry was aware that Granger's version was stronger than the normal _Ventus_, having seen it in action during the previous round. In addition to keeping the target at bay, it could also burn the target's skin if used long enough. Just when it looked as if the Gryffindor had been pushed into a corner, he began his counterattack.

_"Ventus Tria!"_

And once again, the wind altered its trajectory as the strongest version of the Ventus Jinx took effect, making blue spirals in the air. Beside Harry, Castor whooped in admiration as the blast of wind picked up Hermione Granger, taking her into the air. Unfortunately, Harry couldn't see her reaction since her face was hidden by the sleeve of the arm she was using to keep the wind out of her eyes. After a few moments, the wind died down, dropping Hermione from several feet.

If it had not been for the quick Cushioning Charm she had cast, Hermione Granger might have lost mobility in her legs for a few weeks. Oohs ran through the audience. Wade, though looking a little tired, was grinning from ear to ear. In a flash, the witch had risen to her feet, sending a look that promised revenge at her opponent. Wade had very little time to process what had happened when Granger made the slashing motion from earlier in the air again.

_"Tenebrae!"_ she shouted.

And for the third time, the black lines flew at Wade. This time, though, the Gryffindor hadn't been quick enough to dodge them. Harry held his breath as the lines or streams or whatever they were encircled Wade, surrounding him from all sides before joining together to form bars. _A prison!_ As if that hadn't been enough, the Gryffindor was suddenly lifted several feet into the air, still enclosed in his black cage.

"Enjoy dropping people from heights, do we?" Harry heard Hermione say. "_Orbis!_"

The black prison disappeared, replaced by a faint, blue orb. An azure whirlwind blew, causing the orb and its prisoner to rotate with it. _What in the world is she doing?_ Harry thought. Looking at Castor, he saw his friend clench his jaw. _Not something good, then. _He returned his gaze to the duel outside. Wade had begun to spin faster. Suddenly, at the same moment at which the boy's wand flew out of it, the orb was dragged downwards by the wind, shooting blue sparks as it descended.

But it did not stop when it touched the earth. Soil was flying in every direction as the orb drilled into the earth, taking the trapped Gryffindor with it. The soil which had been displaced began to move back to its place, surrounding the orb. For a few moments, Harry couldn't make out anything as it was all happening so fast and the flying dust was obstructing his view. He waited with bated breath as the dust began to settle and he could finally see.

"At least she let him keep his head up," Castor remarked.

Darrel Wade's head was poking out of the ground. The rest of his body, though, had been sucked into the ground, making his head look like a vegetable growing out of the ground.

"You know, his redness and chubbiness make him look like a tomato, even though they don't grow like that," Harry's friend opined.

"And the winner of the first round and our first finalist is Hermione Granger!" Professor Klein's voice echoed.

His wand, which had been cast out of the orb as it had descended, was lying at the victorious witch's feet. She smoothly bent down to pick it up, indicating that she had captured it, before letting go of it again, allowing it to roll closer to its owner. Around her, the crowd got to its feet - at least the section of the audience that Harry could see - and gave her a round of applause. The Gryffindors, though, did not stand up, looking very disappointed. _They have reason to be so displeased,_ Harry thought. _If only Wade hadn't gotten complacent after that Ventus Tria..._

Having soaked in the crowd's plaudits, Hermione Granger returned to the room where Harry and Castor currently were. Behind her, two wizards whom Harry did not know came out onto the field to extract Wade from the ground. Once he was out, one of them waved his wand, causing the soil to fill the hole that had been created by the boy's body, leveling the field once again. They proceeded to take Wade with them, not letting him come into the room.

Closing the door behind her, Hermione made for one of the armchairs without saying a word to the other two. But before she managed to sit down, Harry said, "Congratulations."

For a second or two, she appeared obfuscated, but she finally nodded. "Thank you," she said rather reluctantly, trying to be civil, before taking her seat in front of the fire.

There was a short break of a few minutes, which Harry and Castor utilised by preparing themselves for their duel by shedding their black robes and green and silver ties. Castor even went as far as rolling his sleeves up.

At last the Defence teacher's voice rang out, "Now that we've all had a break, we will move on to the second duel! Please welcome Castor Black and Harry Peverell from Slytherin house!"

That was his cue. Taking a deep breath, Harry jogged over to the wall and knocked on the invisible stone. He slowly opened the door. Castor nudged him, signaling him to hurry it up. With a nod, Harry stepped out into the open. It was now, out of the range of the sound spell, that Harry realised how loud the crowd's deafening roar was. Both he and Castor were greeted with enthusiastic clapping from all sides of the circular stadium. What surprised Harry, though, was the part that the Slytherins were the ones who were giving them the softest applause. _Gee, thanks for you support, guys. _

Not letting it ruin his focus, Harry moved to the right, letting Castor take the left. The temperature here was perfect - not too cold and not too hot. There wasn't any wind blowing either, not even a light breeze. Surveying the crowd, he saw Dumbledore and the rest of the faculty sitting in a section right over the room in which he had been. Next to Professor McGonagall, who was sitting on Dumbledore's right, was Professor Klein with her wand touching her throat.

"Take your positions, contestants!" she ordered.

Castor and Harry moved closer to each other, their wands held in front of their faces, coming to a stop close to each other.

"Ready, Harry?" Castor asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

They bowed. They turned around. They took a few steps away from each other. They turned back towards each other, adopting the same stance that Darrel Wade had used in the previous match, their wands pointing at each other.

"You may begin at the count of three. One! Two! Three!"

Castor Black did not waste any time. As soon as the professor had said 'three', his wand had moved.

_"Petrificus Totalus!"_

The Full Body-Bind Curse flew at Harry, who dodged it easily. Harry never understood why people always began with very weak spells, only using the stronger ones later on. The starting spells were always easy to evade and thus, only served as signals that the duel had indeed begun. But Harry didn't let this bother him as he sent three Stunners in succession at Castor, who found it necessary to duck and then jump in order to save himself.

"_Melofors!_" Harry's opponent bellowed, casting the Pumpkin Head Jinx.

Shaking his head at Castor's silliness, Harry deflected the spell with a flourish of his wand. If this was all that Castor planned on doing, they weren't going to get anywhere. He began to doubt the boy's seriousness even more when the next spells that he cast turned out to be the Tickling Charm and the Jelly Legs Jinx, both of which were also blocked by Harry.

"_Bombarda!_" Castor suddenly cast.

Harry was caught by surprise as the ground in front of him exploded, sending dust everywhere. Thankfully, his glasses managed to shield his eyes from most of the dust and he was able to make out the Stunner flying at him. Berating himself for his complacency, he cast a quick Shield Charm to protect himself. Now he decided to take a leaf out of Hermione Granger's book.

"_Glacio!"_ he cried.

The beam of ice erupted from his wand's tip, making its way through the air towards its target, who grimaced.

"_Inpurignis!"_ Castor muttered, thrusting his wand out.

Harry gasped as he saw black flames burst from the tip of the boy's wand and latch themselves to the beam of ice. _Dark fire._ It began to consume the ice, making its way slowly but surely towards Harry, who was forced to stop the spell midway. As soon as the fire reached the end of the ice, it disappeared into thin air. Relieved, Harry stared at Castor, who was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a faint smile.

_Getting serious, are we? In that case..._ _"Everte Statum! Expelliarmus!"_

Two jets of light emerged from the Elder Wand, heading for Castor Black, who cast _Protego _to protect himself. The Shield shattered when the first spell collided with it, making the way clear for the Disarming Charm. But the boy's reflexes were fast and just when the jet of red light was centimeters away from his nose, he kicked himself to his left. But before he had the chance to defend himself, Harry cast another Disarming Charm to catch him. But luck was smiling upon Castor. He had been unable to find his balance when he dodged the previous spell and had fallen down, causing Harry's spell to save harmlessly over his head.

_"Ventus Tria!"_ Harry heard Castor cast the wind spell.

Familiar blue spirals formed in front of Castor and began to make their way towards Harry along with the blast of wind that was pushing him back. Without thinking, Harry shouted, "_Parma Argenta!_"

_Yes!_ A large, shining, silver shield had lodged itself in the soil in front of him. It was wider and taller than he was, concealing him completely behind itself. It's top and upper-halves on both sides were straight, though the halves began to curve as they went lower and lower. Though Harry could not see the bottom of the shield which was lodged in the soil, he was sure that they would eventually have met at a single point. He heard the roars of the crowd grow louder. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw that even the Slytherins, who had been parsimonious with their applause, were now encouraging the two. Smiling, Harry waited patiently for the wind to die down, which it did after a few seconds. Cautiously, he peered out from the left side of the shield. Castor was looking stunned at his failure to do any damage.

Taking advantage of Castor's shock, Harry took a moment to inspect the front of his shield. He felt his jaw drop. It was no longer plain. Instead, the silhouette of what appeared to be a red phoenix was glistening on it. It took all of Harry's willpower to contain the smile that was threatening to appear on his lips. He knew that the due wasn't over yet, so he quickly retreated behind the shield, but only after he had sent an _Aqua Eructo _at Castor to shake him out of his stupor. His friend had had too counter it with his own version of the spell. The jets of water met in the middle of the field and competed in a battle of strength. Although Castor's had put on a fight for a few moments, it was Harry's spell that won out and gushed towards its target, who had to clumsily roll aside. A small amount of the water, though, caught the edge of his trousers.

Hidden from his opponent, Harry was contemplating what to do next. Then suddenly, the shield in front of him began to glow. _Oh, no._ The light from it got brighter and brighter until there was a dazzling flash that caused him to close his eyes. When he felt that it was safe, he reopened them. Just as he had expected, the shield was gone, leaving a small hole in the ground. He had looked up just in time to see Castor disappearing from view under the influence of the Disillusionment Charm.

With eyes closed, Harry tried to listen for any sound that his opponent might make, but it was impossible to sense any, owing to the boisterous shouts of the audience. He could vaguely recollect the Hermione from the other world casting a charm to detect the presence of people at 12 Grimmauld Place. _But what was it? Revelio something..._ As he struggled to recall the name, black ropes appeared out of thin air on his right, snaking towards him. Having seen them before, Harry knew that they could not be burned by _Incendio_, and if he was right, a simple _Protego _was useless against them. He could always conjure up the Silver Shield again, but that would be a wastage of his magic.

_"Protego Horribilis!" _he enunciated, casting one of the spells that he had picked up in the library.

A gray version of the Shield Charm took form in front of him. The robes, coiled around each other, disintegrated at the very instant that they collided with the shield. Relieved, Harry let his shield disappear.

"_Stupefy!" _a voice called out.

Right in front of Harry, a red jet of light was approaching him. It was easily deflected by a wave of his wand. At the same time, he remembered.

_"__Homenum Revelio!"_ he shouted.

To make a long story short, it worked. He could see Castor's outline in green, running towards his left, wand prepared to fire another spell.

_"Finite Incantatem!"_ Harry cast, pointing at his friend.

The Disillusionment Charm was lifted, making Castor completely visible. His jaw was clenched and a fierce look of determination was on his face - a look that did not disappear even when he realised that the Disillusionment was no longer working. _Let's end this,_ Harry thought. It had gone on long enough and he didn't feel like staying out there anymore.

"_Impedimenta!" _he roared.

_"Stupefy!"_ Castor cast.

_"Expelliarmus!"_

_"Glacio Duo!"  
_

The familiar beam of ice emerged from Castor's wand and rushed towards Harry. This time, though, the ice was thicker, which slowed it down as it made its way towards him. Tired of dodging, he decided to take advantage of the slow pace of the spell and bent his elbow before extending his wand arm again. _This is it._

"_Fulmenas!_" he shouted.

The sound of crackling electricity was heard over the buzz of the audience. At the tip of the Elder Wand, a golden sphere was growing larger and larger, sending out an increasing number of bolts that proceeded to surround him. But it was taking too long. Before Harry knew it, the ice had appeared in front of him and touched the sphere.

The ball at the end of his wand exploded as the ice was pushed back faster than he could blink by a yellow bolt of lightning that rushed towards Castor. Before any of them knew it, it had struck Castor's chest, blasting him back by several feet, sending his wand sailing into the air. With the unerring skill of a seeker, Harry caught hold of it. The crowd's cheers became even louder. But Harry did not pay them any attention. His eyes were fixedly looking at the cloud of dust that had risen where Castor had been. With a quick spell, he made it settle down and rushed forward.

His friend was lying at the foot of the wall, his dusty hair spiked up and a few scratches on his face and hands. All worry left Harry when he saw the other boy give him a cheeky smile with arms raised in a gesture that said 'Fine, you got me!' Shaking his head, Harry extended his hand to Castor, who gladly accepted. With a gasp, he was pulled up and put his arm around Harry for support, having twisted his ankle. Only after handing his friend his wand did Harry raise his free arm to acknowledge the crowd, which had gone more berserk in their applause. Everyone from the Slytherins to the Gryffindors, from the parents to the staff was on their feet, clapping wildly, all hostility forgotten in the heat of the moment.

"And the winner is Harry Peverell!" the professor's voice cried.

"You hear that, Castor?" Harry asked. "They're not just clapping for me."

The stunned expression on his friend's face showed that he had, indeed, heard his name being called out along with Harry's. Limping next to Harry, he made his way to the edge of the field, where the two wizards who had taken Wade to the Hospital Wing were waiting for him. Letting the two take it from there, Harry proceeded to go back to the room where he had been waiting in earlier, drowning out the crowd's noise.

His ears were relieved as soon as he stepped foot into the toasty room where only a small amount of the noise could be heard. Hermione Granger, seated in the armchair that had previously been occupied by him, was looking at him with a hint of a smile.

"I told you you'd win," she said.

"But he put up one hell of a fight," Harry told her.

"True. I didn't know that he had it in him to use a little bit of Dark Magic."

"We surprise even ourselves."

"I'll admit that you surprise me. That lightning spell could have killed him, you know."

"Keyword: could," Harry said.

To be honest, he had not been afraid Castor dying owing to the fact that the spell hadn't been perfected. He had also tried to tone down his magic. Besides, he hadn't even thought that the spell would have worked so good. It had been a gamble - a necessary one.

Before the other occupant of the room could retort, Professor Klein's familiar voice was heard, saying, "And that concludes the semifinals, ladies and gentlemen. The final round will be held tomorrow between Hermione Granger and Harry Peverell, both of Slytherin house. Be sure not to miss it. Please follow the prefects out of the stadium in an orderly manner. Thank you very much!"

* * *

"How is he?" a worried Regulus Black asked, standing near the door of the Hospital Wing.

"Oh, he's alright. Just a few burns on his chest," Harry explained, coming out of the Wing. "Madam Pomfrey says she'll have him fixed in no time at all. He says he'll see you now."

"Really? He said that?"

"After a little convincing, yes."

"Right, then. I'll be seeing him," the older man said, going over to the door. Before he stepped in, he called over his should, "Congratulations, Harry. And good luck."

Harry nodded and let him go inside. He had spent the last half hour inside the Hospital Wing, sitting on a bench, watching Madam Pomfrey apply a sickly-green ointment on his scratches. When Castor had taken off his shirt, he noticed some small burns on his chest where the Levin Bolt had struck him. Even Castor had been surprised that they were there at all, not having felt them. They didn't sting, he had said. Madam Pomfrey, the woman who had the cure to almost anything, had brought out a tube of yellow paste which she proceeded to apply to the burns. It was only when this was done that Castor had gasped, saying that the paste stung.

One she was done with it, Harry had gone over and talked to him, telling him that he had done great and that he should be proud of himself for that, laying emphasis on the part where even the Slytherins had acknowledged him. Seeing that the boy was in a better mood, Harry had raised the topic of Regulus once again, encouraging his friend to make up with his father. _You can't always be angry at him. _Hesitant at first, Castor had finally yielded and agreed to talk to him. Before Harry had left, his friend had called out to him one last time, saying, "You better not lose tomorrow. That way I can say that I only lost to the best."

Now Harry was on his way to the Great Hall, his stomach rumbling. He found it almost empty, the late lunch almost over. There only a few students, cleaning their plates by taking in the last bites that were left. At the Gryffindor table, his eyes met Seamus Finnegan's for a brief moment and he saw a smile in them. With a grim nod, Harry made his way over to the Slytherin table, which was only occupied by one person. If this person was someone other than Bellatrix Black, dressed in her signature black, Harry would have been pleased that he was almost alone. Alas! It was not to be and he found himself wishing that there were other people at the table so that he had an excuse not to talk to her.

Having caught his eye, she invited him over to join her with a slight raising of her hand. Tentatively, Harry took the seat opposite her in the middle of the table.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Peverell," she said in an unusually bright manner.

"Afternoon, er..." his voice trailed off.

"Bellatrix is fine."

"Good afternoon, Bellatrix, then."

"I'm afraid our previous meeting was cut short by dear Hermione. She can be a bit touchy at times - doesn't like to admit that even she gets nervous."

Harry merely nodded, taking two chicken drumsticks from the nearest tray and pouring gravy all over them. He saw the woman in front of him wrinkle her nose slightly at this. Not letting it bother him, he took as big a bite as he could and had to exercise remarkable self-control to prevent himself from wolfing it down.

"Where is she?" he asked when he felt that he should say something.

"Somewhere, I suppose. But it's you who I'm interested in. That was quite a show you and little Castor gave us. I didn't think he had it in him, being Regulus' child and all," she commented.

"Yes, he did put up a fight. What is it about me that intrigues you so much?"

"Right down to business, I see. No nonsense is an admirable quality," Bellatrix said, twirling a loose strand of hair around her right index finger.

"I guess it is." He poured himself some pumpkin juice.

"Well, there's the obvious fact that you're a relation of the headmaster. Though most of us don't agree with his ideals, it would be foolish to deny that Albus Dumbledore is a wizard of prodigious skill - a quality that seems to run in the family, if you are anything to go by."

"Not really. You could see that I had to work to defeat Castor."

Bellatrix bent her first two fingers and an apple as red as her lips zoomed from one end of the Slytherin table into her hand. Taking a bite, she spoke, "That was just because you chose to use your strongest spell in the end. For the majority of the duel, you seemed to rely on normal dueling spells, but even they were noticeably stronger than they usually are."

"Is it so?"

"It is, Mr. Peverell. Have you ever contemplated using high-level Dark spells? I have no doubt that they would suit you just as well as the usual ones."

"Once or twice, maybe, only when the situation demanded it." _Sectumsempra, Imperio, Crucio._ He had used them several times, but he wasn't going to admit that openly. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Nothing personal. It's just that it's a shame to see such talent go to waste. From what I've heard, your Defence Against the Dark Arts skills are remarkable," the woman said. There was brief flicker of disdain on her face when she had mentioned Defence.

"I assure you, you don't need to worry about that," he told her.

"You're a puzzle, Mr. Peverell," she opined, biting into the apple. "A shield with a phoenix engraving? That's...not very Slytherin."

"Not to be rude or anything, but I fail to see how that makes me different from the rest of Slytherin." To tell the truth, he wasn't even sure why the phoenix had been there. He hadn't thought of it or anything, the only thing on his mind being the conjuration of any form of defence. The most 'rational' explanation that he had come to was that it was just an effect of the potion of phoenix ash that he had consumed. After all, it did affect his mind.

Bellatrix shrugged before continuing, "It's just not something you see everyday. It goes against the stereotype of us Slytherins being more prone to embracing the Dark side of magic, not knowing that other houses have also produced their share of Dark magicians. Unfortunately, they seem to forget that Dark does not mean evil."

"I understand," Harry said, nodding. "It's just a form of magic that's meant to cause harm. Even hexes and jinxes - ones we use everyday - are classified as Dark Arts."

"Glad to see you understand," the woman said, looking slightly impressed. "Only when it corrupts the user to an irreparable extent is it used for what people might call real evil."

"True," Harry succinctly put it. He looked at the time before saying, "Would you look at that? I need to go do my homework. Best not leave it till tomorrow."

Sighing, Bellatrix said cryptically, "It was a pleasure talking to you, Mr. Peverell. I hope you don't disappoint tomorrow. There are people who expect much from you."

* * *

The room was dimly but comfortably lit by lamps that were hanging from the hall. A roaring fire burned in the fireplace, spreading perfumed smoke. The walls were a lined with wood. Opposite the door, on the black and silver carpet, stood a large desk with two large chairs in front of it. A large, unlit chandelier hung from the ceiling. Behind the desk sat an impeccably dressed man in robes as dark as his eyes and hair, which neatly fell to the middle of his neck. He was tapping his prominent jaw as he went through the report that he was holding.

The door to the room opened, letting in a man with short, gray hair which still had a hint of the golden they had once been and a scar running down what would, at some time in the past, be considered a handsome face. His sunken, blue eyes met the other man's dark orbs.

"What news do you bring me?" the man at the desk asked.

"The boy won again," the other man replied.

"I expected as much. What does Bellatrix say?"

"She claims that the boy is exceedingly skilled at Occlumency. From what she understood while talking to him, he sounds like Dumbledore's nephew through and through."

"But that's impossible!" The seated man exclaimed. "How could he defend against her Legilimency? And as far as I know, that old fool doesn't have any relatives. Something's terribly wrong here."

"That seems to be the case, sir."

"Are you sure that you can't find any records?"

"Indeed, sir. The Americans refuse to even listen to us. It is no use asking them for any help."

"What makes Bella think that he is, as he claims to be, a relative of our old friend?"

"He seems to have used a Silver Shield with a phoenix engraved on it. We all know who's rather attached to phoenixes."

"While that isn't incriminating evidence, it does bend things in his favour. But then again, maybe it's just that he uses a phoenix feather wand," the seated man said, engrossed in thought. "Besides, the Peverell name died out long ago."

"Actually, we have no evidence for that. The last male of the line had actually disappeared."

"So you're saying that he moved somewhere else? Interesting. I knew there was a reason why I took you out of that wretched prison of yours."

"And for that, you have my gratitude. What do you suggest we do?"

"I think we should leave it for now. He does not seem to be any sort of danger at the moment, though you should tell Bellatrix to ask that niece of hers to keep a close eye on him. She has done well. Besides, I'm already going to Hogwarts tomorrow. It's been quite a while since I last visited my old home. I shall see what to make of the boy tomorrow."

"I presume that you'll be taking a thestral, Lord Slytherin."

"I'm glad to see you've been keeping track of my traveling preferences, Gellert," replied the seated man.

With a smile that revealed his slightly crooked teeth, the other fellow turned around and left the office. Alone once again, the man in black directed his attention back to the report he had been reading.

* * *

_There. I hope you liked it._


	16. The One in Which They Duel

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

* * *

_Thursday, the sixth of November, Nineteen Ninety-Seven._

The Room of Requirement came into view as Harry opened his eyes. For a second, he panicked, wondering why he wasn't in the Slytherin dormitory, but he soon remembered that it had only been to escape his housemates, who suddenly seemed to have gained a huge amount of respect not only for him, but Castor as well. It wasn't as if everyone was best friends with Harry now, but the air of animosity from earlier was no longer there. His friend, who had his blood on his side, was faring even better. Harry could have sworn that he had seen two girls cozy up to Castor before he had left for the Room of Requirement.

It was only when he had checked the time that Harry stood up with a jolt. _Almost two! Damn it!_ Now he understood that last night's practice session had been a bad idea. He hastily searched for the fresh uniform he had brought with him last night. Casting aside his night pyjamas, he put on his uniform, not bothering to check whether or not his tie was proper. Swinging the black robe over himself, he stuffed the Elder Wand into his pocket and left the Room, leaving his bag behind, all the while thinking '_Don't start without me, don't start without me.'_ As expected, he found the hallways deserted, everyone having left for the stadium.

Just like yesterday, it was a cold, foggy afternoon. But the cold was the last thing on his mind as he rushed towards the stadium. His heart leapt with joy as it came into sight, and he almost forgot to brake, barely avoiding a crash into the door. He was glad to see that the doorknob was there, which meant that someone was definitely inside the room.

"So you finally show up, Mr. Peverell! Glad to see you remembered."

Professor Klein, dressed completely in pink, was looking half murderous and half relieved as she scolded him when he entered. Beside her, sitting on an armchair, was Harry's soon-to-be opponent, Hermione Granger - one of the few Slytherins whose attitude towards Harry was unchanged. Frankly speaking, Harry wasn't surprised. With everything he had seen, it took a lot to shock him now.

"My, uh, bad, Professor," Harry mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "The good thing is that I'm here. Now, when do we start?"

Shaking her head, the professor handed him an envelope, saying, "In a bit. I took the liberty of taking your mail for you, seeing as you were absent from breakfast."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, accepting it.

He turned around and ripped the envelope open. Feeling the eyes of the other two occupants of the room on his back, Harry read through the message:

_The spell is Obscura Murus. It is only temporary. I hope you are able to understand why I gave you this. Hint: Your wand. It does not matter how many times you say the spell.  
_

_-APWBD  
_

The initials were obviously the headmaster's. No one else had such a long name. But why in the world had he given Harry this message? What was the spell supposed to do? His wand? _He's finally lost it,_ Harry mused, whispering the spell to memorise it. As soon as he had finished, he felt his pocket grow warm - the pocket in which he had stuffed his wand. Without letting the surprise show on his face, he stuffed the small piece of parchment into his chest pocket and looked back at the two women.

"So?" Harry asked, stuffing his hand into the wand pocket. "What to we do?" _What the- _There was something strange going on. From what he could feel, his wand no longer seemed to have the familiar bumps on it which distinguished it so much.

"Alright," Professor Klein began. "Since you were late, Mr. Peverell, I think you ought to know that we have two special guests today."

"And they are...?"

"The Minister and his aide."

His eyes widening, he pointlessly asked, "And the Minister is...?"

"Lord Slytherin, you dolt," Hermione snapped.

He suddenly fell ill. This wasn't supposed to be happening! What in the world was he doing here? And of all the names in the whole universe, he had chosen Lord Slytherin? _Can't go calling himself Lord Tom Riddle, can he, though? _"What in the world is he doing here? I mean...he surely has better things to do!"

"Actually, this isn't the first time that he's been here. Every one or two years, he'll come along for a visit. He just came arrived ten minutes ago. You missed it," explained the Defence professor.

"I see. And who's his aide?"

"Gellert Grindelwald."

"You're kidding!" Harry spurted out.

"I am most definitely not, Mr. Peverell. What's gotten into you?"

Grindelwald? Voldemort's aid? He felt dizzy. What had old Tom done to get the other under his command? But now it made sense - Dumbledore's message that is. From what he had established by just feeling his wand, its appearance had definitely been altered. The old man had not lost it. In fact, he had proven himself a master planner once again. Whom had the headmaster won the Elder Wand from? _Grindelwald. _How had he won it? _By defeating him._ The only way Harry could have had it? _By defeating Dumbledore. _Surely, the aide would remember the shape of the Deathstick. The spell had been meant to mask the identity of Harry's own Elder Wand!

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Harry mumbled.

"Right," Professor Klein said, not entirely convinced. "Anyway, you know how it's done. No killing on purpose. You win when you have the wand. Don't make me go all over this again. Any problems?"

"Not at all," Hermione said.

"Nope," confirmed Harry.

With a quick nod, Professor Klein left the room, leaving the two Seventh Years alone in silence. Finally, Harry drew his wand out of his pocket, unable to resist. _Yep._ It had changed. The elder berry carvings were no longer there, giving it the appearance of an ordinary, brown wand. This difference had not gone unnoticed by Hermione Granger, who spoke up:

"New wand, Peverell?"

"Oh, no," Harry said, keeping his calm. "I just learned to change its appearance. Look." He whispered the spell. The wand turned pink. He whispered it again. It turned blue. And again. Now it was brown again. '_It does not matter how many times you say the spell,' _the message had said. _Good message._

The girl looked like she could bang her head into a wall. "Seriously, Peverell? The whole wide world of spells and you choose to change your wand's appearance. Why am I not surprised?"

Before Harry could retort, Professor Klein's voice boomed outside, causing Harry to turn around and gaze through the transparent wall.

"Esteemed Minister, guests, faculty members and students, welcome!" she was saying. "Welcome to the ninth annual dueling competition's final round. We will cut right through to the action. Please assist me in welcoming our first competitor, Slytherin's Hermione Granger!"

As soon as her name was said, Harry's housemate left the room and took the field to enormous applause, keeping a straight face the whole time. Still, Harry caught a faint smile - or smirk, considering who it was - on her face.

"And now, a big hand of applause for our second finalist, who is also from Slytherin - Harry Peverell!"

That was his cue. Taking a deep breath, Harry left the room. As soon as he had put his foot out, it was as if someone had turned the volume of a radio to maximum from zero. The cheers were deafening. Holding his head up high, he made his way to the right, his opponent having chosen the left side. Against his better judgment, he chose to scan the crowd.

There he was. Right next to Dumbledore. There was no mistaking it. It was the same man whom he had seen in the photograph in the headmaster's office. He had been clapping for him, too. For a moment, their eyes met. Tom Riddle, dressed in immaculate black and silver robes, returned his gaze measure for measure, fascination flooding his eyes. And for an instant, Harry was unable to tear his eyes away. It was as if something was whirring inside his head, making it ache. The next second, it was as if nothing had happened - he felt alright, completely fine. And then he saw the man's thin lips twitch into an almost undetectable smile.

And on the Minister's other side was the former owner of the Elder Wand. Gellert Grindelwald, a far cry from the Grindelwald Harry had seen in his visions at Nurmengard. Just like Voldemort, this Grindelwald must surely be using some kind of glamour charms to conceal his true age, because he did not, in any way, resemble someone of Dumbledore's age. If Harry had to guess, he would say that this man with fading blond hair was a mere forty years old. Turning his head around, Harry saw Castor, sitting behind Everard Rookwood, give him a thumbs-up.

Remembering what he was there for, Harry forced his eyes off the crowd. Opposite him, Hermione Granger, wand in hand was staring at him. Around the two, the crowd became hushed as it waited for them to begin.

"Competitors, bow!" announced Professor Klein.

The two students marched up to each other, their wands in front of their faces, before giving each other the smallest of bows. They proceeded to step away from each other before adopting their stances. Harry stood with his wand arm extended in his usual pose, whereas his opponent had changed her usual stance to mirror his.

"On the count of three! One! Two! Three!"

The crowd burst into life. No time was wasted as Harry roared, "_Incendio Maxima!"_

A burst of fire escaped his wand and rushed towards Hermione Granger in the shape of a large cross, emanating enough heat so as to cause Harry's vision to distort for a few seconds. Seeing no way to dodge this, Hermione was forced to thrust out her wand and form a shield of water with which the flaming cross collided. Copious amounts of water vapour spread out into the air as the fire was consumed by the water. The battle of fire and water ended in a tie, though, as the water also evaporated.

Having decided to fight fire with fire, Hermione waved her wand. "_Inpurignis!"_

Black flames issued forth from it, rushing towards Harry.

"_Protego Horribilis!"_

The Dark fire was wiped out by the special shield charm, especially designed to counter Dark spells. As the gray shield faded after doing its job, Harry smirked at his opponent, who had adopted a blank expression. _This is only the beginning, _Harry told himself. Before he could act, though, Hermione had conjured a jet of water stronger than any Harry had seen, directing it at him. It was almost on him when he made a cutting motion through the air.

"_Diffindo!"_

The jet of water split into two - one directed towards his right, the other towards his left. Despite this, a handful of water had splashed onto his face, requiring him to use a quick drying spell to clear his glasses. This time, he didn't give his opponent the opportunity to attack first.

"_Ventus Ferveo!" _he incanted, using Hermione's own spell against her.

He was pleased to see that it worked on his first try. The wind had picked up and was now blowing full force at his opponent, who had to hide her face behind her arms to shield it from the burning effect of the spell. This gave Harry an opening. Taking advantage of Granger's temporary immobility, he swung his wand over his head and cast a Disarming Spell. A jet of red light zoomed forward, catching Hermione in the chest. Her grip on her wand proved to be quite tight, though, since her wand remained clenched in her fist.

As the wind suddenly died down, Harry stood there with a clenched jaw, surprised at his failed attempt at disarming his adversary. Hermione Granger, on the other hand, was huffing and puffing, catching her breath after having held it for so long. Her normally fair skin had reddened due to the force of Harry's spell. Before anyone knew it, the two were on the attack again.

"_Glacio Tria!" _cried Hermione.

"_Incendio Maxima!_" Harry repeated his first spell.

The beam of ice and the burning cross met in the middle of the field, colliding head to head. But Harry's spell proved to be stronger as it began to melt the ice beam, gradually pushing its way towards Hermione, whose eyes were narrowed in focus. In the blink of an eye, she had switched spells, replacing the beam of ice with a jet of frigid water, which doused the flames, protecting her. Harry clenched his fists. Whenever he though that he had got the better of her, Hermione Granger had always managed to come up with some sort of counter. This was getting irritating.

Meanwhile, she had waved her wand again, sending out the same bolt of lightning that Harry had seen her use against Rookwood in the very first meeting of the Dueling Club. Fortunately, Harry remembered Castor's words about using a simple shield charm to deflect the attack - which was what he proceeded to do. The spell was easily cast aside. Then he fired three spells in succession - _Petrificus Totalus. Impedimenta. Expelliarmus -_ making sure to space them in such a way as to make it difficult to dodge them.

Although the first and last were evaded by Hermione, the Impediment Jinx caught her in the stomach, pushing her back several feet, unable to move for a few seconds, but she recovered just in time to see Harry cast _Aqua Eructo_. Taking advantage of Harry's focus on the water spell, she twirled around and made a throwing motion with her wand.

"_Copulus!_" she cried out.

The black ropes that emerged from her wand surrounded Harry, who had been to slow in stopping his water spell, and snapped close to each other, holding him tightly. He soon found out that the harder he struggled to escape, the tighter the hold of the ropes on him became. He looked up to watch his opponent's expression. She looked like Christmas had come early as she made the familiar slashing motion, forming black lines in the air. Harry felt himself sweat. He did not look forward to meeting the same fate as the previous target of that spell.

Instinctively, he flipped his wand in his hand, pointing it at the ropes around him.

_"Relashio!_" he shouted. _Ha!_

The black ropes fell apart. Not giving his opponent any time to attack, Harry swung his wand arm forward.

"_Confringo!_" he yelled.

The ground in front of the girl exploded, hurling her into the air and back several feet. As the dust cleared, he saw her getting back to her feet, her wand arm firmly clasped in her other hand. She winced in pain. He expected her to drop her wand. He then realised how foolish he had been to think that she would do such a thing.

"Let's see you defend against this! _Labruscus!_" she announced.

For a few moments, Harry stood there, clueless, thinking that her spell had failed. Then the ground began to shake. Something had gotten hold of his left leg. His gaze was immediately diverted towards his feet, where he saw a thick vine sprouting out of the ground, snaking its way up his leg. With a yelp, he tried to get away from it, but to no avail. There had been no time to do anything to it because just then another vine had burst out of the ground in front of him.

"_Incendio Maxima!_" he cast.

The fire hit the vine, burning its top, but was unable to stop it as it continued to grow and twist itself around Harry's left arm. Soon the whole field, barren just a few moments ago, had turned into a dense garden of vines, reminiscent of Devil's Snare. Opposite him, Hermione Granger was on her knees, panting heavily, wincing with each breath she took. The spell had obviously taken its toll on her. But it had not been in vain. The crowd was filled with gasps of awe and horror as Harry was encompassed by the vines, which formed a closed wall around him, taking him prisoner.

Using _Lumos_ to light up his prison, Harry tried to think of a way to escape. Time was running out, he realised as it became increasingly difficult for him to catch his breath. If he stayed like this any longer, he might suffocate and pass out, which would mean that he had been defeated. _No._ That was unacceptable. Defeat was not something that he liked.

"_Bombarda!" _

The spell managed to create a small opening, allowing some air to enter which he gulped in, but it was soon closed again. Feeling his head grow lighter, he pondered over what to do next.

Outside, a deathly silence had descended upon the audience. Everyone had their eyes fixed at the field which was covered in green vines. At one end of the field was an enclosed coffin-like structure within which Harry Peverell was trapped. At the other end, the witch who had cast the spell was on her knees, trying to gather enough strength to stand up. She had used up a lot of energy and was now gasping for air. Castor Black had his tongue between his teeth as he licked his lips, which had dried up after all his gasping. Even Professor Klein could not make up her mind on whether she should let the duel continue or not. At one instance, she had even gotten up from her chair but Castor had noticed the Minister shake his head just a bit. And with that, she had sat back down.

With every cell of his body crying out for oxygen, Harry pointed his wand upwards and shouted out his last hope, "_Infernus_ _Tempesta!_"

His prison exploded as a raging inferno arose out of Harry's wand as a fireball that split up as soon as it erupted out of the wand's tip. The crowd screamed its approval as the whole field was set ablaze, the fire spreading out like a wave that consumed everything that came into its path, apart from the two humans. Once it had reached the boundary, it formed a towering wall around it, blocking the view of the audience, and had proceeded to enclose the arena in a dome.

Harry gulped lungfuls of air, relishing it. His body was trembling, though not from fatigue, but from the sheer amount of magic running through it. He stood there, amazed, staring at the firestorm he had just created. He had given it free reign and it had spread out to wipe the wild plants that had taken over the field. Even now, he could see a few vines trying to grow back. _Oh, no, you don't. _With an overhead sweeping motion, he directed the fire towards the vines. Whole waves of fire were being emitted by the wall that surrounded the arena.

He caught sight of his opponent. Hermione Granger, her hair disheveled and her face sweaty in the orange light of the flames, had been reduced to a mere bystander as the fire had destroyed her network of vines as if it had been nothing more than an ant in a giant's path. A mixture of fear and awe was evident on her face as she returned her gaze to Harry, who had been looking at her from the opposite end of the field. She was started by a flare that passed overhead. Another flash of fire burst forth. She knew that she wasn't fast enough to dodge it and waited for it to destroy her. But it never came. To be exact, it did come but it passed right through her, leaving her with nothing different aside from a feeling of overwhelming warmth.

Harry stepped forward. She grimaced as she seemed realised that he had decided to finish her off himself. But he didn't stop before her, choosing to turn slightly to his left. With a solemn look on his face, he picked up her wand that had been cast aside as she had struggled to gain enough strength to get up. Once again, he looked at her and saw nothing except stupefaction. The very slight faltering of expression had been enough, though, to tell him that she knew that he had won. There was nothing more to be done.

With a wave of his hand, he willed the flames to disappear. They obeyed. The dome overhead split, letting in what little sunlight was available that day. And then the walls began to disappear as if dissolving in air. As the sound of the flames disappeared, it was replaced by the roars of the berserk crowd, which had grown impatient due to its inability to see what was happening. All that was needed was the sight of Harry holding two wands in his hands to make the crowd begin cheering violently.

"And we have our winner, ladies and gentlemen! Please give it up for Mr. Harry Peverell!" was all that Harry could make out over the noise, as he surveyed the crowd. For a moment, his eyes met Castor's, who was waving at him with his mouth open. At last, Harry put down the second wand in front of his defeated opponent, who was still on her knees and hands with her face downcast. Two witches came onto the field and helped her up, taking both Hermione Granger and her wand off the field.

When he turned around, he saw that the Minister had made his way down to the podium at the edge of the arena, followed closely by Dumbledore, who had his gaze firmly fixed at the Dark Lord's back. At the podium's center was a table on which something lay concealed by a white sheet. He didn't need to be a genius to figure out what it was, especially when he was called to the podium by Professor Klein's voice to receive his prize.

Stuffing his wand into his pocket, he made his way up to where the two older wizards were standing. With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore cast aside the cloth, revealing a glistening, golden cup with handles that were made to look like bent wands. Right in the middle was an engraving of the Hogwarts crest. The base of the trophy had a silver plaque which, initially blank, now read in bold letters:

_Harry J. Peverell_

_Winner of the Dueling Tournament of the School Year 1997-1998  
_

Keeping a straight look on his face, Harry stepped forward to take the hand of the ruler of wizarding Britain, who was looking at him with an expression of interest and a thin smile that revealed a hint of pearly teeth. The handshake was a strong one - vigorous, yet firm. Despite this, Harry could not help but feel a hint of animosity for the hypocritical man who, despite being a half-blood, propagated pure-blood superiority. But he did not let it show.

"That was quite a show you put on there, Mr. Peverell," said the so-called Lord Slytherin. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir," he answered, trying not to vomit at the action of calling this other Voldemort with the honorific 'sir'.

"Professor Dumbledore was telling me about you. I'm truly sorry for the loss of your parents."

_Oh, please. _"It's alright."

"I hope to hear more of you in the future."

He didn't like this one bit. He desperately wished to get off the stage, his head beginning to spin and his body feeling heavy. With herculean effort, he accepted the trophy from the Minister, who said something to Dumbledore about having to go somewhere. Harry had to hand it to the two men - despite being opposed to each other, they seemed to be talking like old acquaintances. Raising the cup lethargically to rapturous applause, he made his way to the door of the waiting room, not paying attention to whatever the Defence professor's booming voice was saying.

Placing the cup on the floor, he slumped onto an armchair, feeling exhausted. It was as if the world was spinning around him. He closed his eyes, but that only aggravated his dizziness, making him feel like he was tumbling down into a bottomless chasm. And so he opened them again. His vision started tunneling and before he knew it, he was out.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes to darkness. Slowly, his vision began to clear and he found himself staring at an all too familiar ceiling. _Hospital Wing._ He recalled fainting in the stadium. Someone must have brought him here. His head had cleared. In fact, he felt much better now. The Hospital Wing was dimly lit, only one lamp burning. Turning his head to the right, he saw the door to Madam Pomfrey's office shut. These clues led Harry to deduce that it was night, everyone having gone to sleep, which meant that he had been out for almost the whole day.

Finding his legs stiff, he decided to get up and pace around, knowing that he would have to do it silently. If Madam Pomfrey woke up, there would be hell to pay. He pushed himself up and took his glasses from the table beside his bed. The Elder Wand, which also lay on the table, had reverted to its true form. Putting on his spectacles and grabbing the wand just to make himself feel secure in the silence of the night, he stepped down and stretched, feeling the cramps in his body pop.

He had walked to the middle of the room when he heard someone say, "Finally up, are we?"

Wand at the read, he spun around. His eyes fell on one Hermione Granger, dressed in a hospital gown, unlike him, who was still in his uniform.

"Easy there. It's just me," she whispered, her face half-illuminated by the dull light of the flickering lamp.

Harry relaxed and lowered his wand, feeling a hint of embarrassment at his paranoia, which he masked by asking, "How are you doing?"

"I've been better," she elucidated concisely. "Care to keep me company for a while?"

She was pointing toward the bench next to her bed. He accepted the invitation. For what seemed like eternity to Harry, no one spoke. But the silence was finally broken by his housemate.

"Congratulations."

"Excuse me?" he asked, not believing what she had said.

"Don't make me say it again. Once was hard enough."

"Okay...thanks, I guess. So you're not angry that you, um, lost?"

"I am. At myself, that is. I was stupid. What was I thinking when I used that last spell? It was suicide."

Not knowing what to say, he let her continue rambling.

"Peverell," she said his name.

"Yeah?"

"That last attack of yours - that fire one - it was...quite something. It destroyed everything so easily, but it didn't do anything to me. I'm sure you had something to do with that. Why didn't you hurt me? You could have had your revenge or whatever you might call it on me."

Lost for words, he mumbled, "The rules said that I couldn't kill anyone."

"So you would have killed me if it wasn't for the rules. But you still had the opportunity to hurt me."

"No, no. It's nothing like that. What would I have gained from doing anything like that? Just more animosity."

Hermione looked down at him from her bed, an expression of puzzlement on her face. "How many times must I say it?"

"That I'm a strange guy? I know."

"Black came to see you," she said, digressing. "He seemed genuinely worried when he heard that you had ended up in the Hospital Wing."

"Is that so?"

She merely nodded in reply. Once again, there was a period of silence which, once again, was broken by Hermione.

"You used the _Ventus Ferveo_ better than anyone I've ever seen."

"Is that a compliment I hear?"

"No. Just stating a fact. Were you so desperate to defeat me that you resorted to Dark magic?"

"Pfft, no. As you saw, I have better spells than _Ventus Ferveo_. It was just the first thing that came to my mind."

"Of course," she muttered mockingly.

"You know what, Hermione. Hey, you don't need to cringe every time I say your name. Anyway, I was thinking. Can't we try and be civilised toward each other. I mean, look at us now. Me and you here. We're talking like two normal people, aren't we? I know that I don't usually try to behave politely towards you - hell, I might even encourage you, but don't you agree that this is better?"

After a moment of reflection, she answered, "Yeah, I guess it is. As long as we don't start being all chummy with each other, I think I could manage that way."

"Glad to hear it."

"I'll admit it was getting tiring mocking you all the time."

"Because you were running out of good insults."

"You're not really helping, Peverell."

"Right."

"How did you do it?" Hermione asked abruptly.

"Do what?" a confused Harry inquired.

"That fire. How did you summon it? It was huge. Madam Pomfrey surmised that the fire was the cause that you fainted. You were unable to control your magic or something like that."

"What were you doing listening to that?"

Frowning, the girl spoke, "In case you didn't notice, we two are the only ones in the Hospital Wing. It was getting rather boring being here all alone, no one to talk to. Besides, she's always screaming her head off whenever a patient is brought in unconscious. Makes it hard not to hear something she says."

"Ha," Harry found himself genuinely chuckling as he stared at the shadows that the flickering lamplight was causing on the walls. "Who brought me here?"

"Runcorn. He said he found you unconscious in the stadium when they were cleaning out the room so that they could vanish the stadium. Thought you were asleep, at first. But you wouldn't wake up."

"So we're both here for the same reason then."

"I guess," she shrugged. "Though I can't wait to get out of this place. I kept telling Madam Pomfrey that I'm fine."

"She never listens."

With a raised eyebrow, she questioned, "How do you know that? I don't think you've ever ended up here before."

Harry, who had become trained in the art of telling lies, spoke without hesitation, "She's a nurse. They never listen. I used to end up in the hospital at my old school all the time, and almost everyone of those times saw me begging her to let me leave, but no. She said that I had some kind of wish to die before graduating."

"Why would anyone end up in the hospital that often?" she asked rhetorically, buying Harry's half-lie. "What were you doing? Fighting trolls and dragons?"

_Yes._ "No. Nothing like that. Just Quidditch injuries."

"So now you play Quidditch, too. What is it that you don't do?"

"For starters, I'm pretty bad when it comes to taking theoretical exams."

"In case you didn't notice, your duels indicate otherwise. If you can use such high level spells in real life, what is it that stops you from scoring on tests?"

"I...dunno," Harry admitted. "It's natural, I'd say. Let's be honest here, why would anyone care who invented a certain spell? Knowing how the Patronus was invented isn't going to help you against a Dementor, is it? Maybe that's the reason - I just don't care about the theory unless it's necessary to perform the spell. And then there are spells which just come to you in the midst of battle. You could have read about them yesterday and you find yourself capable of using them in a duel the next day if your life depends on it."

"Magic is a mysterious thing, isn't it? Here we are, at an ancient school where it has been taught for centuries, and yet we don't know what magic actually is or where it comes from." She checked her watch. "Peverell."

"Hmm?"

"Madam Pomfrey said she'll be coming to check up on us at two. It's almost time. I don't know about you, but I'm going to sleep. I don't fancy listening to a lecture I don't care about."

Harry stood up quickly, rushing off to his bed like his life depended on it. Before he lay down under the warm covers, he said, "Good night."

That only earned him a glare.

* * *

"It makes no sense, Gellert!" snapped the man formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, as he paced around in his study. "That boy's Occlumency is ridiculously strong! He must have been trained from birth."

Gellert Grindelwald, his so-called aide, sat comfortably on a fat armchair, sipping Firewhiskey. To be honest, he failed to grasp why the other man was so concerned about the Peverell boy. Slytherin was overly suspicious of Dumbledore for his own good. The old man had better things to do than train child soldiers to lead an uprising. Even though it had been the Hogwarts headmaster and his childhood friend who had defeated him, leading to his imprisonment at Nurmengard, Grindewald held a respect for Dumbledore that even he himself found peculiar. But he had to admit, the boy had talent.

"So what do you suggest we do?" he asked, bored.

"What do you say?"

"Should I tell you what I think is the truth or what you want to hear?"

"The truth, Gellert! The truth!"

"If you ask me, you're taking this whole affair too seriously. Sure, the boy is talented, but he isn't the first, is he? There have been bigger prodigies. Look at Dumbledore - strongest wizard since Merlin, they called him. What has he been able to do?"

"Nothing."

"Exactly. Nothing! Then what do you think that a student who's still in his seventh year will be able to do? This isn't like you. Get a hold of yourself."

The Minister stopped pacing, nodding in tentative agreement. "You're right. I've been thinking about it too much. It's just that I can scarcely fathom the idea of Dumbledore doing nothing. He seems to stick his nose everywhere."

"Let's just forget about this for the moment," yawned the older of the two, getting up and stretching. "It's getting late. I need to catch up on my sleep."

"Did you give Bellatrix my message from yesterday?"

"I did."

With that short reply, Grindelwald left for the night.

* * *

_Yes, this one was rather short._


	17. Quidditch

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

_I really appreciate the reviews and favourites. I know I'm updating after a relatively long break, but I've been really busy. Also, don't expect an update anytime soon in the next month. I'm drowning in work these days. If I get the time, I might put in a chapter or two, but don't count on it. _

* * *

The next week had passed in a whirlwind of classwork and homework as the students had to work twice as hard to compensate for the time off they had received during the dueling tournament's finals. Most students were of the view now that it would have been better if they had been made to work at the same time as the competition. On top of that, Harry discovered that N.E.W.T students were required to not only sit their end-of-year examinations, but also a series of exams in the month of December to determine their aptitude, but only after there had been another Careers Advice session.

Harry Peverell, who had suddenly become a sort of revered figure - not exactly, but respected nonetheless - in Slytherin after his victory in the competition, was currently in the last class of the day - Potions. Professor Runcorn, having decided to see what their results would be if they were not together, had decided to split apart the 'dream team' of Harry and Castor Black, both of whom had obtained near perfect Potions grades working as a pair. As luck would have it, Harry now had to sit with Hermione Granger for two separate classes, Defence Against the Dark Arts being the other one. With a wave of his wand, Runcorn conjured the instructions for the so-called 'Antidote to Cure All Poisonings' - which only acted against most, not all, poisons - and set everyone to work.

"Alright, Peverell, fill the cauldron to half," instructed Harry's partner, rolling up her sleeves.

"Don't boss me around, Hermione," he retorted. "_Aguamenti._"

Adding the petals of aconite (something which, according to Harry, went against everything that the potion stood for since aconite was poisonous), Hermione Granger said, "Don't get me started with that. Just do what you do with Black, work your potions magic, and we'll be alright."

Taken aback, the boy did not answer and continued following the instructions, occasionally sneaking in an opposite stir or varying the quantities of the ingredients. To tell the truth, he had no idea what he was doing, never having heard of the potion before. A potion to counteract many sorts of poisons did sound rather useful, though. He looked over his shoulder to see Castor and Rookwood arguing over whether the instructions were right or not.

"You play Quidditch, right?"

"Er, yeah," Harry said, looking at Hermione, puzzled. "Why do you ask?"

"So are you trying out today?"

"No...I think I've had enough action for a whole year. I think I'll give other people a chance in the spotlight now," he replied, grinning cheekily.

"How modest you are. But your modesty is of no concern to me as long as you help me complete this potion properly."

He raised his eyebrow. "Wow. So basically, you need my help."

"I never said that."

"But that's what you implied."

"The bezoar, Peverell."

"Let me tell you that I'm glad to help anyone who needs my assistance."

"The bezoar!" she snapped, looking irritated.

Harry knew that he wasn't doing anything to improve their attitude towards each other, but he couldn't help it - and neither could his partner. Taunting each other seemed to come naturally to them, though Harry seemed to be vastly more proficient at it. Either that or Hermione Granger was just short-tempered. _Probably the former._

He didn't have any more time to think about it as he was brought back to reality by a resounding boom. Alarmed, he jumped and turned around, bursting into laughter at the sight that greeted him. Castor and Rookwood, covered in red slime were shouting and pointing accusingly at each other. The cauldron that they had been using was nowhere to be seen, though Harry was sure that the viscous, black fluid spreading on the floor had, at a certain time in the past, been a cauldron.

"Damn it, Rookwood, Black!" cried Professor Runcorn, losing all of his usual listlessness. "What did you do? Let's hear it!"

"I added a bezoar, professor!" Castor explained. "But that git had to ruin everything by adding another!"

"Oh, no! You're not putting this one on me!" interrupted Rookwood. "I put in the bezoar first. Mine touched the potion first!"

"Only because you dropped it from a lower level!"

"Alright, alright, boys. You added it at the same time. I won't be taking any points because it was a mistake, but both of you have detention. See me an hour and a half after class is over," Professor Runcorn said, making the mess vanish with a flick of his wand. "As for the rest of you, what are you looking at? Get back to work."

Needless to say, they got back to work.

* * *

It was an hour after the potions class that Harry, having successfully completed the potion, much to his partner's and teacher's approval, was sitting in the Quidditch stands with Castor Black, who was busy complaining about how the detention was unfair. "You hear him - it was a mistake!" he kept saying. Tired of listening, Harry had drowned his friend's voice out and was focusing on the hopefuls that were now standing in the middle of the field. As expected, he did not see a single girl among the students who were there to try out. Slytherin girls and Quidditch just did not mix.

"By the way, don't you play Quidditch, Harry?" Castor asked abruptly, ending his rant.

"I did."

"And you must have been pretty good."

"I was alright," Harry said, trying to parry the praise.

"Come on, don't be so modest. What was your record?"

"Played for six years. Lost one."

With a whistle, Castor spoke, "Then what are you doing here? Get in th- wait a second, six years? You played in your first year?"

"Yeah, it was, er, allowed at my old school - not that many First Years qualified."

"But you did! Get in there. We can finally win the Quidditch Cup. Ravenclaw's had it for two straight years. Before them, it was Gryffindor - also for two consecutive years."

"I don't feel like it anymore. I mean, I like flying and all, but I just don't feel like getting into a match again. I missed the final last time because of detention. Never took part in a game after that," admitted Harry, eliciting a shake of the head from his friend.

"Just you wait. I'll have you do something for the Quidditch team even if it's the last thing that I ever do."

Meanwhile, the Slytherin captain and beater, George Glendale (a tall and thin, yet graceful Sixth Year) had begun the tryouts with Beater tryouts, determined to find a partner for himself. Harry watched from the stands as five boys took to the air at once on the old school brooms, their bats in their hands. As soon as both Bludgers were released, mayhem ensued. All five hopefuls were tearing through the air as fast the brooms allowed them to, hitting the wild balls at each other in an effort to knock the other person off their broom. Aside from a boy who didn't last even one minute, it was a close competition. At last, a large boy by the name of Robert Grant got the position. Unlike Glendale, Grant actually looked like a Beater.

Then it was time to choose a Keeper. This, Harry thought, was an easy choice since there were only two students trying out for the position - one of them, Eoin Bartley, had been Keeper last year. As expected, he clinched the position again after blocking sixteen out of the twenty throws that had been sent his way, compared to only eleven by his rival - an emphatic victory. The Keeper tryouts served as trials for the Chasers, too, and Glendale soon found his three Chasers: Murtagh Finn (a returning player), Percival Kinsey and Christopher Leland.

At long last, it was time for what Harry had been waiting for. There were three boys trying out for the Seeker position - two of them looking rather out of place due to their bodies, which looked relatively heavier than the average Seeker's body. The third, though, a skinny boy with short, golden hair, looked to be perfect for the part - he was light and nimble, at least he appeared to be so.

At Glendale's ear-splitting whistle, the Snitch was released by Grant, the Keeper. All three boy kicked off and shot after it without any delay, going head to head before coming to a sudden halt. They seemed to remind Harry of synchronised dancers for a few moments, judging by the way they had kicked off together and flown and stopped at once, too. But the Golden Snitch was proving far too elusive. A good ten minutes were spent looking for it before the short boy pulled his broomstick around and flew towards the Ravenclaw stands.

Out of nowhere, one of the other two boys - a black-haired fellow - had popped up in front of him, closing in on the Snitch. With the third in tow, both players stretched their arms. The black-haired boy, despite being larger in stature, proved to be just as speedy and, as the moment when he dove after the Snitch proved, a better flier. Snitch in hand, the victor punched the air with joy and shook hands with the two rejects. The team was now complete with the addition of Liam Redford as Seeker.

Castor had rushed off to see Professor Runcorn for his detention several minutes ago, leaving Harry alone in the stands, so Harry had to set off for the castle alone. Rubbing his hands together to get some warmth into them, he began his short journey, walking along the edge of the Forbidden Forest to shield himself from the glare of the setting winter sun.

"_Where did you get that mouse from?_" a voice whispered.

Harry froze.

"_What do you mean where did I get it from? You're in a forest_," replied another voice - one that was different yet similar to the previous one.

"_Find me one. You know I'm not good at hunting._"

"_No. Do it yourself._"

"_But I'm hungry._"

"_This one is mine._"

"_Let me have a taste._"

"_Stay back!_"

"_Ssh. There's a human there._"

"_I can see him, too. He's from that human school._"

"_There are more of him here?_"

"_Have you been living under a rock?_"

"_Let's get out of here before he sees us and decides he wants to eat us._"

"_Humans don't eat snakes, you idiot! But there's no harm in moving to another place._"

After listening in on the conversation, Harry didn't need to turn and look into the forest to see who or what had been making the sounds - one of them had mentioned it already: "Humans don't eat snakes." _Snakes._ He bit his lip. This couldn't be happening. He had understood every word they had said. But it was impossible; the other Dumbledore had said that his Parseltongue abilities were granted to him by Voldemort's horcrux within him. With its destruction, there was no way that he should have been able to understand what the snakes had been saying. It had been exactly like his earlier experiences with the recondite language - he had been unable to differentiate it from human speech. It was as if the snakes had been talking in English.

During times like this, Harry knew that he would have gone to Dumbledore, who seemed to have an answer to everything. Yet he did not want to do so. He couldn't be seen troubling Dumbledore with every little problem he had (not that this was little). Besides, who knew how Dumbledore would react? In the other world, the headmaster's attitude towards him had remained unchanged because he knew that it was Voldemort's soul that was the cause of his Parseltongue ability. While he trusted Dumbledore's opinion, he did not want to go to him - not yet. Therefore, there was only one place he could go to.

* * *

Harry stood in the Restricted Section of the library, which had become a sort of second home to him now. Even Madam Pince had stopped questioning him about his motives every time he came to it. The door of the room shut behind him, he ran his fingers along the spines of the books that concerned Dark Magic. While he didn't consider the ability to talk to snakes Dark (he had, after all, been adjudged Dark due to it in his second year, so he knew how it felt to be misunderstood), he was perfectly aware of the fact that most other people did consider it so.

And he found the book he was looking for. _Magick Moste Evile _by Godelot - a wizard whom Harry knew as a former owner of the Elder Wand. He dropped the heavy, black volume on a table and pulled up a chair. This book was supposed to be the authority on different forms of Dark Magic; according to the other Hermione, it had been the only book in the whole library in which Horcruxes had warranted a mention - just a mention, though. If he didn't find the answers to his questions in this book, he would be better off just going to Dumbledore.

Thanking Godelot's spirit for arranging the contents in alphabetical order, Harry flipped to the page on Parseltongue. He was greeted by a picture of a snake's open mouth, its fangs bare, venom dripping from them. Taking his eyes of the unpleasant image, he read through the text, which had been written in an old form of English, causing a few difficulties for the boy as he went about his work, occasionally pausing to contemplate the meaning of a certain word or sentence.

Most of the information was that with which he was already familiar, like how Parseltongue was severely misunderstood as a Dark ability (though not without good reason, since almost all known Parselmouths had been Dark wizards) and what it was used for. What did arouse his curiosity for more than a lingering moment was the use of the obscure tongue in an even more arcane branch of magic called Parselmagic. He forced himself to continue because this was not the knowledge that he was looking for.

It was at the middle of the next page that he found something that he had been hoping to discover. Contrary to popular belief, Parseltongue was not a trait exclusive to Salazar Slytherin's line, Herpo the Foul (a legendary Dark wizard from Ancient Greece) having been the first known user of the language, and there was no way that Slytherin could have been his descendant as Herpo had died without fathering any children. According to the popular opinion of people who had studied the Dark Arts, Parseltongue was similar to the ability of Seers in the fact that it seemed to appear randomly among people and then turned hereditary, though Parseltongue manifested itself more strongly - a family could go generations without another Seer being born, but you could find a whole family of Parselmouths.

This knowledge calmed Harry down. Voldemort's soul was no longer inside him - he was sure of that. But if what Godelot had said was true, he had acquired his own Parseltongue ability. It was mind-boggling when he thought about it. All these years, Dumbledore had thought that his powers were the result of the Dark Lord's soul residing in his body but in reality, he had had his own power of snake speech, too. This was, of course, mere speculation on his part, but it did seem like a rather solid theory. It was the best one that he had.

Without warning, Castor came bursting into the Restricted Section, a maniacal grin on his face. An indignant Madam Pince was at his heels, ready to berate him for disturbing the library's peace.

"Harry, guess what I signed you up for!" he exclaimed.

* * *

A few days had passed since Harry's discovery of his Parseltongue abilities and it was soon time for the first Quidditch match of the season, which would be Slytherin vs Ravenclaw. While most of the school was abuzz with talk about the game, there was one particular Slytherin who was very annoyed at his friend, who would have been dead had it not been for the punishment he would have gotten if he killed him.

"Peverell, are you ready? We need you up in the stands," called out Professor McGonagall.

"I, er, I think I'm ready," he mumbled. _I'm not._

Why in the world did Castor have to sign him up for the post of commentator? Apparently, he believed that by commentating, Harry was doing something for Quidditch, though what this something was Harry did not know. How in the world could he help a team win by being a commentator? _It's more like a practical joke for that idiot._

Silently cursing the boy, Harry hurried over to the Quidditch pitch as fast as he could through the snow-covered grounds and numbing winds, grateful that he wasn't playing in this weather. From the box where he sat, he could see the whole stadium. Prior to this, he had never been so high up in the stands. With a quick greeting to Professor Flitwick, who sat behind him, he began fiddling with the scoreboard's controls and megaphone as the stands filled up. As he had expected, more than half of the people had made it clear that they were supporting the defending champions, Ravenclaw.

Out of nowhere, the deputy headmistress popped up and took her seat next to Harry, signaling him to say something.

With a frown, he began, "Er, welcome one and all to this year's first Quidditch match. I'm Harry Peverell and I'm being forced to commentate due to my friend, who put me in this situation. Ouch, Professor!"

The crowd, which had burst into laughter at his comments, roared even louder when Professor McGonagall nudged him with her elbow.

"Take your job seriously, Peverell!"

_Now I know what Lee Jordan felt like. _"Right you are, Professor," he said, echoing Lee Jordan's words. "Anyway, today's game is between Slytherin house and the titleholders, Ravenclaw!"

As soon as he had said this, the entrances to the pitch below opened and Harry took out a small piece of parchment on which he had scribbled all the names of the players, and began reading them out, "First up is Slytherin: Finn, Kinsey, Leland, Bartley, Grant, captain Glendale and Redford! Next we have the Ravenclaws: Captain Smith, Moon, Hurt, Briggs, Bones - Patrick Bones, that is, Anderson, and Warwick!"

The only girls in the whole match were both from Ravenclaw: Irene Moon,a chaser, and the seeker, Jenna Warwick, whom Harry fondly remembered defeating in the preliminary stages of the dueling competition. Giving time to the crowd to settle down before saying anything else, Harry looked around at the other occupants of the box in which he sat. Most of the professors, aside from the heads of houses, were seated here. Dumbledore's presence remained elusive though.

Madam Hooch, just as Harry remembered her, walked up to the middle of the pitch, having Glendale and Smith shake hands in front of her. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have thought that the two captains were rather amicable towards each other even though they were actually attempting to break the other person's knuckles - something that appeared to be a requirement for captains. A few words about fair play from the hawk-like flying instructor, and the teams were up in the air. As soon as the Quaffle was launched into the air, Harry shouted over the cheers of the audience:

"And the game begins! Smith takes the Quaffle - no, wait, that's Hurt. My bad. What, Professor? That's Smith? Wait, it doesn't matter anymore because Finn has it now."

With Harry's miserable commentary providing an extra source of entertainment to the crowd, Slytherin's chaser Finn headed towards the scoring area, pursued closely by two of Ravenclaw's chasers. Before he could score, though, a Bludger came flying out of nowhere, forcing Finn to dive in order to avoid it and lose the Quaffle in the process.

"Hurt or Glendale, whichever one it is, has seized the Quaffle after that stupid Bludger almost knocked out Finn - no, Professor, I'm just telling it like it is. The Bludger was stupid. Whoa, where in the world did Leland come from? He's grabbed the Quaffle and passed it to Kinsey, who's bolting for the goalposts. Come on, Kinsey, take one for the team. Wait, he passes it to Finn. Good dodge there and HE SCORES! Take that, Bludger!"

"Peverell! Have you taken lessons from Jordan?!" yelled McGonagall.

"I don't know who that is, Professor, so I'll have to say no," Harry said cheekily, losing all inhibitions in the thrill of the game. "Let's have a look at the seekers, shall we? Warwick and Redford are still circling the stadium for the Snitch which has passed in front of me for the fourth time just now. No, Liam, I'm not making fun of you."

Meanwhile, the Quaffle had been taken by the Ravenclaw captain who flew towards the Slytherin goalposts, weaving through the other players. Before anyone had the chance to stop him, Smith had shot the Quaffle at the goalposts and was immediately hit by a bludger from his Slytherin counterpart. Rubbing his arm in pain, Smith saw his throw being caught by Bartley, the Slytherin Keeper, who proceeded to throw it towards one of his own Chasers. Unfortunately for him, though, Moon zoomed forward and intercepted the throw.

"Nice catch there," Harry remarked. "Moon with the Quaffle. C'mon, Bartley, you can do it. YES! I MEAN NO! She's scored. The scores are tied 10-10." For a moment there, he had forgotten that he was a Slytherin, too, and had begun to cheer at Moon's success against his house.

As the pace of the game increased, the Quaffle was rapidly passed all over the pitch, making it difficult for Harry to say the names of the players. It wasn't as fast as the World Cup game he had once been to though. The only reason he was struggling to name the players was because he didn't know who was who. Ten minutes, three fouls, a timeout and two crashes later, the scoreline was 70-50 in Slytherin's favour. As the Ravenclaw captain flew forward to take a penalty, the crowd's cheers grew louder, causing Harry and the players to turn their heads, which allowed Smith to get the Quaffle in.

Warwick had dived toward the ground at breakneck pace with Redford in hot pursuit. Harry leaned over the edge of his box to spot the Snitch but his eyes only met green grass.

"Feint! Feint!" Harry blurted out before he could stop himself.

As soon as these words were uttered, the Slytherin seeker pulled out of the dive, rocketing upwards. The Ravenclaw seeker, on the other hand, looked murderously at Harry. And why wouldn't she be angry? He had just uncovered her ruse, albeit not purposely.

The Ravenclaws, spurred by their anger at Harry, were trying to make the game even wilder - something that Harry had not expected Ravenclaws to do. The Slytherin Keeper suddenly had more to do as the other side's Beaters tried to knock him out. That and the threat of the Quaffle coming in at any time had made the Keeper the busiest player in game now.

"Redford has seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted, sitting at the edge of his seat. "And this time, I think it's real!"

Liam Redford had wheeled his broom around and shot off toward the Ravenclaw goalposts, jaws clenched, eyes narrowed, a look of determination all over his face. Ravenclaw's Seeker did not sit around either as she flew in from her vantage point near the commentary box from where she had been shooting angry looks at the commentator.

Redford has his arm extended before him, his hand clawing at a flicker of gold. Warwick had managed to catch up to him and she knocked aside his arm, reaching out for the little golden ball. Out of nowhere, a Bludger came pelting towards the two Seekers, determined to get them off their brooms. Dodging it, the Seeker in blue pulled her broom to the left while her green-clad counterpart merely chose to duck. Their choice of evasive tactics made all the difference in the world. Warwick had taken herself aside while Redford was still following the Snitch's tracks. There was no competition after that.

"Take that, Ravenclaw!" Harry shouted out victoriously as Redford's fist clasped around the Golden Snitch. "Slytherin win 230-80, giving Ravenclaw their first loss in two years! And that's it from me, ladies and gentlemen." He finished with a high-five to the Slytherin seeker as he passed by the commentary box as part of his victory lap.

* * *

"Feint! Feint!" Castor mimicked Harry in the Common Room, which had come alive with the sounds of celebration. "Merlin, Harry, you should commentate every time."

"Glad you found me so entertaining, Castor, but I won't be doing it again. I don't even know what came over me," Harry admitted, helping himself to some of the Butterbeer that Castor had smuggled from the kitchens.

"But seriously, Peverell," began Redford, who had been standing nearby. "Those are some powerful eyes you have there - or maybe it's just the glasses. If you hadn't blown their ruse, I might have been lying in the Hospital Wing right now."

"It's nothing..."

"Nothing?" Castor interjected. "Nothing?! Hey, Redford, did you know that our friend Harry here used to be Seeker in his old school. First Year, too! Lost just one game."

"No way!" Redford's eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets.

"It was allowed there!" Harry lied.

"Still, think of all the competition from the upper years and you still got in! That explains why you saw the Snitch so many times."

"Eyes like a hawk," Castor declared, much to Harry's embarrassment.

"You must have been itching to get in there, huh?" asked the current Slytherin Seeker.

With a frown, Harry answered, "I'm not sure exactly. I mean, I think I've had enough of the game, but then when I actually watch it being played, I can't-"

"-Help but think you could do it better," Castor interrupted.

"That isn't what I was going to say, but alright. No offence, Redford."

"None taken. But McGonagall was right about one thing."

"What's that?"

"You've been taking lessons from Lee Jordan."

"Who in the world is that?!" Harry feigned ignorance.

"Only the most biased commentator in the history of the school," explained Castor. "He was this Gryffindor guy who gave Professor McGonagall hell whenever he commentated. Can't say I hated him, though. Any guy who can get to McGonagall is a winner in my book."

"Sounds like an interesting guy."

"I guess he was. Never really knew him personally, though. Hey, Harry, have you thought about going professional with Quidditch?" inquired Castor as Redford left the group.

"Once or twice maybe. Why?"

"Just wondering. I have no idea what I'm going to do at Careers Advice. Runcorn almost had my hide back in fifth year because I told him I wasn't interested in anything," elaborated the boy.

Harry mumbled, "I always thought about becoming an Auror."

"What?" his friend blurted out.

"An Auror. Dark wizard catcher? Oh, wait..."

"Exactly. In case you didn't notice, we haven't had any Aurors for as far back as I can remember. Go back to the States and then you'd have a chance at that."

"Then what in the world do I want to become?!" Harry asked, his eyes wide.

"How would I know? Let me figure myself out first."

"Maybe a teacher. Yeah, a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. That might be fun."

"Apart from all the homework checking and dealing with rowdy students, it might be," Castor said. "How about Potions? You're good at them, aren't you? Set up a shop in Diagon Alley, make a reputation for yourself and charge real high for your brews. There you go - money galore!"

"Just because I'm good at them in class doesn't mean I'm interested. I certainly don't want to do that for a living," Harry said. _Besides, it won't do to have Severus Snape as a competitor. _"Maybe Curse Breaking..."

"You need Arithmancy for that, in case you didn't know."

"Oh, yeah..." Harry's voice trailed off as he racked his brains, thinking about what career he could say he wanted to follow.

"You know, I think I'll go off an join a dragon reserve. I've got Care of Magical Creatures. What could be better than hanging out with dragons all day long? Besides, I bet girls will love that. Little dragons look like they can be a lot of fun."

"Fun until they learn to breathe fire and roast you. Sounds pretty interesting."

"Yeah, like you'd know. Now you're a mighty dragon fighter, too, aren't you? Taking treasure from them and living to tell the tale."

Harry couldn't help but snort at how close to the truth Castor was. A golden egg could certainly classify as treasure. And here he was, alive and well, though he wasn't going to tell anyone that tale. There would be no better way to get even more attention than to declare that you had fought against a Hungarian Horntail and that too on a broomstick.

"Duelist!" burst out Castor.

"What?" Harry questioned, lost.

"Become a professional duelist. You could go all around the world - most of the world, at least - dueling for money. With your skills, you could be deadly match for anyone, Harry. Think of the money! Think of the fame!"

"Could you get any more materialistic?" Harry asked. While dueling did sound like something that could maintain his interest, he didn't like the idea of fame that much. He had had that in abundance and did not exactly enjoy it. "I don't like the idea of getting mobbed by people for autographs. I'd like to live without having to hide myself, thank you very much."

"If that's what you want, why don't you just become a salesman at some shop in Diagon Alley? Nothing special and while you may not earn much, at least you get to live your own life," Castor said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Why are you so interested in what I do, huh?" Harry asked. "Let's talk about you. Ever considered becoming a career counselor?"

"Seriously? No, I haven't. I'd rather not be one. Too much responsibility, if you ask me."

"You could always set up a sweet shop, you know, but then again, I'm afraid you might finish all the candy by yourself," Harry chuckled.

"Shut up. Have you realised that our exams are coming up?" Castor suddenly asked. "I'm gonna fail anyway, though."

"So no worries there, right?"

"None at all."


	18. Kill It

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

_Here's the chapter I said I'd try to sneak in._

* * *

"Yes, yes, I really should be going, sir," Harry said, trying not to show his impatience.

He had been loitering in the Entrance Hall after the Charms lesson when the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Dalton Diggory, had passed by and spotted him. The incident with Castor and the Acromantulas was still fresh in the huge man's memory. That seemed to be reason enough for him to drag the boy, who had no choice in the matter, along on a walk around the rimy school grounds, all the while discussing how 'amazing' and 'brilliant' Acromantulas were, especially as pets. Harry had had to use all his willpower not to blurt out the story of his and Ron's encounter with Aragog. Predictably, the talk had shifted from Acromantulas to other creatures.

Judging by the intensity of the man's speech whenever he spoke of creatures most people would consider monsters, Harry had to admit that the resemblance between Diggory and Hagrid was almost eerie. After much internal debating, he had come to the conclusion that it was almost a prerequisite for becoming a Care of Magical Creatures teacher and that Professor Grubbly-Plank had just been an exception to the rule. Who in their right mind wanted to spend time sharpening a dragon's spikes? _Professor Diggory, that's who._

After an eternity of listening to the man and nodding and feigning interest, Harry had decided that he preferred doing nothing to this and had finally said that he had a lot of homework that needed doing.

"Oh, goodness," Diggory said, glancing over at his watch. "It's almost five. I should be going, too. Have some supplies for my lessons waiting in Hogsmeade."

"Right," Harry quickly spoke, not wanting to hear any details. "Thanks for all that advice about dangerous creatures. I'll be sure to remember it."

Two minutes later, having forgotten the aforementioned 'advice about dangerous creatures', he was cursing his luck. Diggory had dragged him all the way around the lake and to the other side. The frosty soil, covered in occasional patches of snow, was making it difficult for him to make his way back to the castle. Going all the way around the Forbidden Forest was definitely a good way to get a lot of exercise - something that Harry was not in the mood for right now, having realised that he had a lot of studying to do if he expected to score well in his exams.

_Only one thing to do._

Throwing his surroundings a quick glance to make sure that no one was watching, he stepped aside from the trail and entered the shadow of the dense forest canopy. It was amazing how the forest looked like it had never seen the face of winter. Above his head, the trees were as thick as ever and under his feet, the soil was just as dry.

Praying that he didn't come across any of the Forbidden Forest's residents, especially the centaurs, he ventured forth, stepping over bushes and ducking from time to time in order to avoid being scraped by a tree branch. He kept his ears open for the slightest sound of an approaching centaur's hooves. Acromantulas and dragons he could contend with. Centaurs - they were an entirely different matter, especially with the superiority complex that many of them seemed to possess.

Out the bushes on his right, something small and black shot out and scurried across him. Before his mind had registered it as a rat, his reflexes had forced him to jump back and run backwards into a thick bush. Cursing himself for reacting like that, Harry had just lifted his foot to take another step when he heard a voice.

"_Alright, who touched my bush?_"

Looking around for the 'owner' of the bush, the boy spoke dangerously, "_Show yourself and I'll tell you who I am!_"

"_It speaks!_" the voice exclaimed. "_Down here! Down here!_"

Puzzled, Harry lowered his gaze. "_Shite!_"

As soon as he had said this, the little adder at his feet, its white skin covered in black zigzag patterns and only as long as his arm from the wrist to the elbow, tore its eyes away from him and began looking around rapidly. "_Where?"_

_"What?"_ Harry asked, confused and slightly angry at his use of Parseltongue without conscious thought.

"_Where is this shite you speak of?_"

Harry felt his jaw drop. "_It's just an expression... You caught me by surprise._"

"_It does sound like a pretty useful word,_" remarked the snake. "_Why did you touch my bush?_"

_Great,_ Harry mused. He had just taught a little snake how to swear. "_I didn't mean to._"

"_But you did._"

Irritated, Harry bent down, looking the snake dead in the eye. _"What are you going to do about it, huh? Now get out of my sight before I, er, eat you._"

"_Mother says you humans don't eat snakes._"

"_Your mother hasn't met me, has she?_" Harry grinned, not mentioning the fact that he intended on keeping it that way.

With that, he stood up completely and resumed his trip through the forest, laughing inside at the idea of the little snake behaving just like a human child. It seemed to be too smart for its own good. Only five more minutes had passed when a familiar voice hissed, "_You know, I just realised_ _that you have a snake on...on whatever that is on you._"

Groaning, Harry looked at the forest floor behind him, his eyes coming to rest upon the adder. Looking down at the emblem of his house on his chest, he said, "_It's called a robe._"

"_Looks pretty important. I doubt you eat snakes._"

"_You know, you're too smart for your own good. Now go away._"

"_Mother always did say I was the smart one of the lot._ _What do you eat anyway? Why do you have that robe on you? Why don't I have one?"_

Harry's eye twitched and his lips quivered before he shouted out loud, this time in English, "I'm sorry I stepped on your bush! Now go away!"

The words had only just left his mouth when he heard the sound he had been dreading - the sound of hooves. Trying to restrain himself from killing the annoying reptile before him, he sighed. "_Now you've done it. The centaurs are coming._"

"_Shite!_" And the snake slithered away into the bushes, leaving Harry alone.

Seething, the boy increased his pace as he hurried towards his destination. Maybe coming into the forest hadn't been such a good idea. His thoughts, which were mostly about creative ways to kill a certain little snake, were interrupted when a centaur whom he had never seen before came tearing out of nowhere and jumped in front of him.

As soon as the centaur stopped moving and came to a halt, an arrow ready to be fired, Harry held up his hands, meeting the centaur's curious gaze head-on. He was just a boy - a boy with the body of a brown horse, but a boy nonetheless. Maybe boy wasn't the right word. Half-boy? No, the centaur would be too offended. After much debate in his mind, Harry settled on 'young centaur'.

"What is it that you come here for, human?" the centaur inquired.

From the tone in which he spoke, Harry could see that the centaur had no idea what he was doing. He was probably new to all this human-threatening business. Even the bow that the centaur held was unsteady. Resisting the urge to sigh, Harry cautiously spoke, "I'm just looking for a way out. If you'll let me go, I'll be on my way and I won't bother you again."

"H-how dare you try to bargain with a centaur?"

"What the-?" he stopped, leaving his exclamation incomplete. When had he tried to bargain with the centaur? First a little snake and now a young centaur. What was going to happen next? This question was answered only moments later when he heard more voices coming from the direction the centaur had come from. _Oh, great._

"I can sense him," one of the voices was saying. "Just a little further."

"Thestral! I can smell it from here!" another one called. "It's him."

Biting his lower lip, Harry stood still, hands slightly raised, waiting for his end to come. Two centaurs, fully-grown this time, leaped into sight, coming to a stop next to the younger one. One of them had skin darker than any centaur Harry had ever seen. The other was the opposite - the palest centaur he had ever seen. Both of them sported beards and hair that reached down to their 'waists'.

"Harry Potter, we finally meet."

Alarmed at the mention of his real name, Harry whipped out his wand faster than he could blink and turned around. Another centaur. This one had short white hair to match the colour of his glittering coat. A knowing smile spread across this one's face as he looked at the wand in Harry's hand, surprising the wizard by not retaliating.

"The Deathstick!" he whispered. "The wand with thestral hair core."

_So that's what's in this!_ Harry didn't know that. It was a fitting core for a wand supposedly fashioned by Death itself. But there were more important matters at hand.

Lowering his wand, he asked gravely, "Why do you call me Harry Potter?"

"Is that not who you are?" the centaur questioned, though it sounded like he already knew the answer. "Why else would you have this wand? You are Harry Potter, wielder of the Deathstick and the phoenix wand."

"Yeah, well, the phoenix wand is lost. But I'm Harry," mumbled Harry, eliciting a chuckle from the centaur. The man-horse knew more than he was letting on, that much was obvious to Harry. "How do you know my name?"

With a flourish of his hand, the centaur spoke, "Lower your bow, Conan. You will not harm this man. Off you go."

The young centaur obeyed reluctantly, colour flooding into his cheeks, embarrassed at being reprimanded. Then he set off into the depths of the forest immediately.

Looking back at Harry, the centaur continued, "My name is Amphion. And the two behind you are Elatus *he pointed to the pale one* and Silenus *he motioned towards the black one*. Why would we not know your name, Harry Potter?"

This was getting stranger and stranger by the second. Harry asked, "Why would you?"

"Because," began Silenus in a low-pitched tone. "A great destiny awaits you."

"It is written in the stars," added Elatus.

Harry's shoulders slumped. _Not this again. Destined for great things?! _"I think you have me mixed up with someone else..."

"Not at all, Mr. Potter," spoke Amphion. "Unless, of course, there is another Harry Potter who is master of the wand in your hand?"

"But... What do you mean by great things?" Harry asked worriedly.

"We centaurs know only that you are to accomplish much in the future. What these accomplishments are, we do not know."

_Great,_ Harry sighed inwardly. At least it wasn't a prophecy. But what did 'great' mean here? After all, hadn't Mr. Ollivander himself once said that Voldemort had done great, but terrible, things? Why was everyone always so cryptic?

"So you sought me out to tell me this?"

"We merely wanted to see who this Harry Potter was whose name suddenly appeared bright in the sky a few months ago out of nowhere. Normally, we would not be bothered about such phenomena as there have been several people who have accomplished what most others can only dream of. But when it turns out that this person is not a newborn child, but a grown man... let's just say that you aroused our curiosity. I do not know what secrets you are hiding up, Mr. Potter, but if you were to ask me, I would say that you seem to have appeared out of nothing, but I will not pressure you to reveal anything you don't want to."

The last sentence provided some relief for Harry, who was beginning to become very alarmed. "The stars" might very well have blown his cover.

"Er, thanks for respecting my privacy," Harry mumbled, wondering what he ought to say at such a moment.

Silenus spoke up, "Alright, Amphion, you've had your word with him. It's obvious the boy doesn't have anything to add. It's best if he leaves now before darkness descends upon us."

"While it is obvious that Fate brought you into the forest today, Mr. Potter, I must ask you why you happen to be here," Amphion asked.

"Well, you see, I was looking for a shortcut to the school, so I decided to go through here. I didn't mean any harm, if that's what you mean to ask," explained the wizard.

"No, no, of course you didn't," the centaur remarked, nodding his head. "But Silenus is right. You must leave quickly before darkness falls, otherwise you will have worse things to worry about than young Conan coming out of nowhere in an effort to intimidate you."

With a firm nod, Harry bid farewell, "Well, it was nice meeting you three."

"I hope our paths cross again, Mr. Potter." When Harry twitched at the mention of his real name, Amphion added, "You have nothing to worry about. Your secret is safe with us."

With an expression of gratitude, Harry turned and resumed his walk through the Forbidden Forest. From what little of the sky he could see through the dense canopy, he found that the sky had a pink tinge to it. Not wanting to meet up with any other creature at this time, he sped up and was soon out of the forest, finding himself in front of the place where the Care of Magical Creatures class was usually held.

The castle towered, light streaming through its countless windows, over him as he climbed up to the entrance. Near the gates, he saw Everard Rookwood and Hermione Granger coming out of the castle, talking in urgent whispers. A confused look crossed both their faces when they saw him jogging up the track to the castle. Harry waved at them.

"Just out for an evening jog," he said cheerfully. "Not everyday you have a clear ground in December."

Instead of saying anything in reply to that, Rookwood was looking behind Harry, his mouth open.

"Don't look now, Peverell," Hermione said in a low voice, almost a whisper. "But is that snake coming up behind you?"

"What in the world are you talking about?" Harry questioned, wheeling around. He almost swore out loud when his eyes fell upon the same annoying adder that he had met in the forest. It had been slithering up the trail but came to an immediate halt when Harry turned around to look at it. The Parselmouth thanked the heavens that the other two Slytherins couldn't see the look on his face, which promised pain for the snake.

"_Hi, again,_" hissed the reptile. "_How'd you manage to escape from the centaurs? You should be dead._"

Biting his tongue to stop himself from retorting, Harry jumped back and let out a fake cry of surprise before running up to stand behind Rookwood, using him as a human shield.

"Kill it!" he exclaimed.

Wrenching himself free from Harry's iron grip, Rookwood shot him a look of utmost bewilderment. The girl beside him was also beside herself with shock, as indicated by her raised left eyebrow.

"What are you waiting for? It'll bite you!" Harry shouted angrily.

"You never fail to surprise, Peverell," mumbled Hermione, drawing out her wand. But Rookwood was faster.

"_Vipera Exumai!_"

A flash of green light shot out of Rookwood's wand towards the snake, causing it to recoil before turning around and slithering away, but not before adding, "_Shite._"

_I've created a monster,_ Harry thought, horrified. "You've saved all our lives, Rookwood!" exclaimed Harry, thumping his roommate on the back as a father would do to a son upon accomplishing an impossible feat.

"I wonder how much I'll regret this," muttered Rookwood, loud enough for Harry to hear. "What Slytherin is afraid of snakes like that?

"Don't you think it's a little late to be going out for a walk?" asked Harry, hastily changing the topic.

"No, Peverell, I don't," hissed the other boy.

Before Harry could reply, Hermione spoke up, "Why do you care, Peverell?"

"Just asking." Harry rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't want to delay you two any longer."

And with a flourish, he continued up to the castle, hearing something like 'weird kid' behind him.

* * *

"Peverell, Harry," called out a fifth year prefect, standing in front of Professor Runcorn's Potions classroom the next day.

Harry, who had been sitting for ages in front of the classroom, staring at nothing in particular as he waited for his turn to discuss his career options with his house's head, jumped up to attention. _Finally._ Signaling the prefect that he was indeed present, he went into the room, finding the bored-looking teacher sitting at his desk, which was cluttered with flyers and brochures concerning different careers and jobs one could have.

"Ah, Peverell," he acknowledged Harry's presence in that usual monotonous tone of his. "Good afternoon."

"Afternoon, sir," Harry greeted back, taking the lone seat opposite the teacher.

"I trust you know why you're here?"

"To discuss my career options?"

"Indeed. And we'll get right to the point. What is it that you plan on becoming, Mr. Peverell?"

"Er," Harry began thinking. "I'm not sure," he finally said, giving up.

A perplexed-looking Runcorn asked, "Really, Peverell? There must be something that you've dreamed of becoming, even if it was silly."

"Well, there was one thing..."

"Out with it then!"

Knowing that the faculty at Hogwarts was neutral, Harry admitted, "I used to think about becoming an Auror."

"And...?"

"And Britain has no Aurors."

"Exactly. Now if you were to move back to the United States, Peverell, then you might have a chance. But I'll be frank with you. I doubt that they would take a person who has any sorts of links with us as an Auror. They might not deem you trustworthy enough, even if you turned out to be the best damn Auror the world has ever seen."

"So there's no hope?"

"I wouldn't say that," said Runcorn. "You could always try other places. There are several countries which would jump at the prospect of having someone who studied at Hogwarts as a member of their Auror Corps. Your grades are very good. If we only talk about the practical aspect of your work, then you would make an excellent Auror candidate, even though the Auror training program is always very tough. Only the best are taken, no matter which country it is. Even places with very few Aurors won't hire people they deem unworthy just because they have a shortage of people."

Harry bit his lip. He definitely didn't want to leave the country for another one. It had been trouble enough to start all over again here. Going elsewhere would turn out to be a nightmare.

"So what do you suggest I become?" Harry asked.

"Considering your penchant for scoring high in Defence, you would have made a brilliant Curse-Breaker, but you don't have Arithmancy. Have you ever thought about becoming an apprentice? You could go on to become a teacher."

"I did think about that, but I don't think I could deal with all the homework marking and rowdy students," replied Harry.

The corners of Rookwood's lips curved upwards at this remark. "Yes, they can be quite a handful at times, especially if they're like our own Mr. Black. Speaking of him, I heard him say that you used to play Seeker at your own school. Quite the record you have there, if he was telling the truth. One loss only. Got onto the team in your first year, too. Have you thought about becoming a Quidditch player?"

"At times," Harry admitted. "But I'm always put off by the prospect of being followed everywhere by reporters and people who can only see me as a Quidditch player and not as a normal person."

Runcorn sighed. "You're very specific as to what you want and what you don't want in your career. That's what's making this very difficult. In any case, if you ever decide you want to be a Quidditch player, I'd advise you to try and badger Glendale into giving you a position in the team just to show that you have experience playing it at Hogwarts."

"Uhm, I'll think about that..."

"Anyway, I guess your desire for privacy would also be telling you not to go professional as a duelist. Am I correct?"

Harry nodded.

The professor continued, "A shame. You would have made us proud."

Not knowing how to reply to that, Harry stayed quiet.

"The only thing you want to be is an Auror. Why not go into the Ministry's law enforcement department? They're no Aurors, but it's still law enforcement."

By 'they're no Aurors', Harry knew perfectly well what Runcorn meant.

"No," Harry answered. "I'd rather not go take a Ministry job. It's...too restrictive. Maybe I'll just set up shop in Diagon Alley and sell robes."

"That could work. Do you have experience designing clothes?"

"No..." Harry sighed, defeated. "I guess I just don't know what I'm gonna do. I'll go wherever life takes me after Hogwarts, in that case." _Of all the un-Slytherinish things to say..._

Giving up, the professor agreed, "You're right about being undecided, even though I don't like it. So all you can do is work hard for your exams and get the best grades you can, just so you don't face any obstacles in case you decide to take a job which requires a high grade. But I don't think I need to tell you that. You're averaging high in all your subjects, especially Defence and Potions. I expect nothing below an E in any of your subjects. Also, you should be aware that you may be tested on _anything_ in the examinations. Just because you didn't cover a certain a topic even once after your first year doesn't mean that you won't be asked about it."

"I understand."

"So that's it," said Runcorn, putting aside the parchment with Harry's name and school record on it. "Could you tell Agnew outside to bring me a cup of tea?"

* * *

The days leading up to December passed by slowly with the Seventh Years buried under piles of books and notes as they spent every minute of their free time cramming for their exams which were to begin on the first of the last month of the year. Harry himself had been spending many sleepless nights studying in the Common Room, especially as the eleventh month came to a close. He wasn't the only one, though. All his year-mates had decided that sleep was useless and they could spend that time making copies of their books in their minds.

Even the eternally careless Castor Black had decided that something needed to be done, especially after Runcorn had berated him during his own session with the professor to discuss his career options, saying that he needed to pull up his grades unless he wished to open up a joke shop in Hogsmeade ("Not a bad idea," Castor had said, which had lost him ten points).

The only thing that was keeping the students alive was the anticipation of the Christmas holidays, which would be a welcome respite from their packed school schedule. Many a time, students would drop their books and instead start talking about what they planned on doing in the holidays, much to Harry's annoyance because it reminded him of the fact that he had nowhere to go. Of course, he had been used to spending Christmas at school due to the Dursleys, everything had changed after Fifth Year, when he had actually gone with the Weasleys. Not doing that this year around seemed wrong.

"Alright, what's Golpalott's Third Law?" Harry asked Castor, quizzing him on the night before the first exam, which would be Theory of Potions.

"There's a Third Law, too?!" his friend asked, looking horrified. "I thought there were only two!"

"Oh, stop it and tell me the stupid law."

"Fine, fine, don't get angry," a grinning Castor said. "It says: _The antidote for a blended poison will be more,_ no, wait, _equal to more..._ What in the world does it say?!"

"_The antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components,_" Harry stated the law.

"In English? It'd be easier to remember it if the stupid book actually explained what it meant."

"Runcorn explained it, but you were too busy dozing off, remember?" retorted Harry.

"Can't you explain it?"

"I can."

"Then go ahead!"

"Uhm," Harry began, wondering how to elucidate. "Well, basically, it means that- you know what, let's take an analogy. You have three poisons, okay? Let's call them A, B and C. Now you mix all three of them to make poison D. You also have three antidotes for the three original poisons. Call them X, Y and Z. Now you would think that to make an antidote for poison D, you should mix X, Y and Z. That's only partly correct. That's where the '_equal to more than the sum of the antidotes'_ part of the law comes into play. You need to find a fourth ingredient which will, er, combine the three antidotes into a single antidote. It won't be a mixture any longer. It'll be a whole new substance that will act as the antidote. Get it?"

Castor, who's mouth had dropped open halfway through the explanation, only managed to say, "Wow, that was smart."

"It's pretty easy to understand if you think about it, but then again, you don't think at all," said Harry.

"True, true. I'm gonna fail."

"And I will, too, if I don't get to sleep. I'm going to bed."

Harry pushed himself off the floor and, ignoring Castor's comment of 'thanks for the encouragement', made his way back to the Seventh Year boys' dormitory, which was still empty since everyone had been in the Common Room, cramming for tomorrow. His head swirling with facts and names of ingredients, Harry slumped into bed and allowed himself to be pulled into the realm of sleep.

* * *

Harry woke up on Monday, the first of December, to an already empty dormitory. If it had not been for the slept-in beds, Harry would have guessed that no one had bothered to sleep all night. He had no doubt that he would fine everyone in the Common Room, noses buried in books. Sighing, Harry dragged himself out of bed and got dressed in his school robes before heading out of the dormitory, not bothering to take his quill or inkwell since they would already be provided.

As expected, he found the Common Room crowded. Most Seventh Years had handed over their books to First or Second Years, forcing them to listen to memorised extracts and compare them with the information in the book to make sure they were perfect. By the look of the junior students, Harry could see that they had not had much choice in the matter. Utter boredom and bewilderment was written on their faces as they stared at the pages of the books, struggling to keep up with the recitation of 'their Seventh Year'.

Not having anything better to do and being well aware of the fact that any last minute revision would only serve to jumble up the facts in his mind, Harry sat plopped down onto a sofa, letting out a deep sigh. Opposite him, a group of three girls was audibly reciting the ingredients needed for the Polyjuice Potion - perhaps the only potion that every student could be sure would be on the written paper since brewing it in the practical examination would be impossible due to the length of time it required.

Before he could stop himself, he found himself correcting the girls, "You only add the bicorn horn after crushing it. You don't mention the fact that it's supposed to be a powder, say goodbye to your marks."

This earned him three angry glares from them. One of them, a blonde whom Harry had often seen in the company of Hermione Granger, even asked him, "Why aren't you revising, Peverell? This isn't dueling, you know. You can't get by on just natural talent."

"Which is why I studied," said Harry with a smile. "But I finished with it yesterday. You'll only mix up everything if you keep memorising till the last minute."

This had her rolling her eyes and saying something about him letting lesser mortals like her study.

* * *

Two hours later, after having had breakfast in the dormitory since the Great Hall had been set up for the examination, Harry was standing in front of the doors of the aforementioned Hall along with every other Seventh Year in the whole school. To his right, he overheard a group of Gryffindors discussing the possibilities of cheating opportunities. _Fat chance,_ Harry thought. If this was going to be anything like the O.W.L examinations in his Fifth Year, there was no way that anyone could cheat - at least not without getting caught. To his left, a Ravenclaw was telling her friend how she had burned some foreign-sounding wood last night for good luck. Harry had to zone himself out after that to prevent himself from bursting into laughter.

With ten minutes left until the clock struck eleven, the mighty doors of the Great Hall swung open. Sure enough, the house tables had been vanished and instead, there were around fifty desks arranged in rows and columns. The students were herded inside by Professor McGonagall and told to stand in line as Professor Flitwick called out their names so they could go and take their seats. The order of the names was almost completely random in Harry's opinion. There did not seem to be any pattern aside from the fact that as far as he could see, no student had his or her housemates on either side.

Finally, his name was called out and he found himself seated in the middle of the fifth column and the end of the third row, right next to a wall. On his left, though, he had Susan Bones, who gave him a faint wave when he looked over at her.

As expected, there were no Ministry invigilators this time around, only members of the Hogwarts faculty. Professors Runcorn, Klein, McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout were on the prowl, ready to pounce upon anyone naive enough to think that they could cheat and get away with it. With a wave of the deputy headmistress' wand, the exam papers were directed towards everyone's desks five minutes before eleven so that they could write down their names. Dipping the quill that had been provided into his inkwell, Harry neatly scribbled '_Harry James_ _Peverell_' onto the parchment that was his paper and waited.

As the clock struck eleven, Professor Runcorn bellowed, "You have two hours. You may begin."

A silence so thick that you could cut it with a knife descended upon the Great Hall, permeated only by the scratching of quills on parchment and the occasional cough.

_Q1: Describe the preparation, with reference to specific ingredients, and effects of the Polyjuice Potion. _

Harry's heart leaped with joy at the question, having talked about it just a few hours ago in the Common Room. With a smile on his face, he began the exam, jotting down everything he knew. Describing the effects turned out to be a piece of pumpkin pie since he had experienced them first hand. After that, much to his surprise, his quill flew across the lines on the parchment as his hand muscles began to ache after writing so much as he breezed through question to question, only facing minor problems in questions which required the history of certain potions - something Harry had not concentrated on since he doubted it mattered who created a potion. Potions had never been a problem for him as long as it wasn't Snape who wasn't teaching. No matter how good a wizard that man was, a teacher he wasn't.

The final question asked for details about the discovery of Amortentia and the dangers of love potions. This was something that Harry knew plenty about, his whole life having been shaped by the use of love potions by one Merope Gaunt.

"..._A child conceived under a love potion will never be able to experience love."_

With that, Harry dropped the quill and swung his head upwards to relieve his neck, which had begun to ache after having been bent for so long. A glance at the clock told him that there were still twenty-five minutes to go till one in the afternoon, which happened to be the ending time. Taking advantage of the spare time, Harry reviewed his paper. The more he read his answers, the fonder he grew of the Half-Blood Prince's copy of Advanced Potion-Making, the scribbles on which had provided him with more information concerning the exam than the rest of the whole book.

Confused as to what he was supposed to do now, Harry sat there, looking around to meet the eye of any of the teachers. Luckily, he caught Professor Klein's eye, who raised her eyebrows in question. With a tilt of his head, he signaled that he had completed the paper. She was next to him in a second, looking perplexedly at the parchment.

"Are you sure you're done?" she asked, as if trying to beat sense into him. "Don't you want to recheck it?"

"I'm done," Harry replied.

"Was it too hard?"

"Er, I've completed it..."

"Oh..." she mumbled, looking a little embarrassed at thinking that he had decided to hand in the parchment because he was unable to finish it. "Alright, then. You may leave."

Oblivious to the many pairs of eyes following him, Harry left the Hall. Twenty minutes later, of course, was confronted by Castor and his roommates as they descended upon him, asking how in the world he had managed to get out so quickly. At first, they too had thought that Harry had walked out since he had been unable to complete the paper. Castor had clapped him on the back and said something about being glad that at least someone had managed something even worse than him.

* * *

And so, the same routine continued day after day. Sleepless nights were spent memorising for the exam and the rest of the day was spent by most students crying themselves to sleep. Harry's roommates had decided to follow his schedule upon Castor's insistence that it would help them all 'become brainiacs', as he put it.

The next day, there was the Theory of Transfiguration exam, which even left Harry confused as to what exactly he had done in the paper when he forgot Oswald's Laws of Human Transfiguration. He was pretty sure that half of his answers had been mere guesses on his part. This admission had earned him a thump on the back from Castor, who welcomed him to 'the club' of people who had no idea what they were doing when it came to taking tests. This did little to brighten up the bespectacled boy's mood.

After a day's break, Harry came face to face with the Potions practical. He had spent a major part of the previous day, trying to remember every instruction of the Half-Blood Prince that he could. Tears of joy were ready to flow from his eyes when he first set his sight on the exam paper, which demanded that he brew a sample of The Elixir to Induce Euphoria - the very first potion he had made in this world. He glanced at Castor through the corner of his eye to see that his friend sure didn't need the elixir to induce euphoria in him. For the first time, the boy had a smile on his face as he brewed a potion. No doubt, he remembered the instructions that Harry had given him in the first lesson. This was confirmed when Castor came up to him after the practical was over and gave him a hug - a manly hug, the one that friends give to each other.

The fourth exam was held on Thursday and it was Theory of Charms. This, Harry believed ranked somewhere between the Potions theory paper and the Transfiguration one, when it came to how well he had done. If he had to guess, it was closer to his Potions attempt. He was rather proud of his description of the Disillusionment Charm and how it was cast and countered, something he had experienced when he had dueled his best friend last month. The general populace of Hogwarts believed that this was probably the easiest Theory of Charms exam they had taken since stepping foot at N.E.W.T level.

Friday brought with it the exam that Harry had been anticipating the most - well, second most. Only the practical could beat the fondness Harry had for the Theory of Defence paper. Accurately describing the effects of Dementors, the ex-Unforgivable Curses and ways to fight Lethifolds (where he specifically mentioned Newt Scamander's theory of using a firestorm against them), Harry was done with an hour to spare as he bounced out of the Great Hall, elated at his attempt.

The weekend, which Harry had thought would have been a welcome respite from the tension that had decided to make the Slytherin Common Room its home for the month, was worse than the previous week. The Transfiguration practical had been scheduled for Monday and everyone had decided to start practicing for it starting on Friday night. This, of course, had not been a good idea. The room had been filled with shouts and screams every time someone messed up when trying to alter a body part. The girl Harry had corrected before the Potions exam ended up in the Hospital Wing after she vanished her arm bones. After that had been the incident when the room had suddenly been taken over by giant mice when students were trying to convert them into larger animals.

Finally, Monday was upon Harry. Unlike the Potions exam, every student had a personal invigilator when they were called on for their turn. Harry cursed his luck when he found out that Minerva McGonagall herself was going to be assessing him. If it had been someone like Runcorn, he might have gotten away with a few errors. And so he paid attention to every little detail as he went about transfiguring mice into dogs (no wolves this time - McGonagall had been very clear about that) and he even earned a hint of a smile when he successfully managed to conjure an armchair out of thin air. Unlike Harry, most students were of the opinion that this had been even worse than the written Transfiguration exam.

Tuesday brought with it the Charms practical, which had Harry performing spells ranging from a very basic Shield Charm to the highly complex Protean Charm for Professor Sprout. He had successfully managed to link five pieces of parchment so that whatever he wrote on one piece was automatically copied onto the others.

Wednesday and Thursday, the days of the Ancient Runes and Divination examinations, had been spent loitering around in the halls by Harry since he had no idea what he ought to be doing, considering that the next day was the day of the Defence practical - an exam he was sure he could pass without risk of sounding overconfident.

And so Friday arrived and brought with it the final exam - Practical Defence. This time around, Harry landed himself under the invigilation of the Defence professor herself. Harry had a faint suspicion that she had purposely set him up to be examined by her, judging by the enthusiastic look on her face when he arrived. And she soon had Harry performing every counter-jinx she could come up with it, the boy gladly obliging.

"Well, Mr. Peverell, that's it then," Professor Klein said brightly, folding the parchment on which she had been noting down comments and marks.

With a nod, Harry made to leave but suddenly froze. A frigid chill ran through his spine. He looked over at the professor who had her tongue between her teeth, deep in thought. She had noticed it, too, and her hand had begun to creep towards her wand. Fearing the worst, Harry wheeled around.

"_Riddikulus!_" His voice echoed in the room as the Boggart-Dementor lurking at the other end of the room exploded into dust before being sucked back into a tiny, well-concealed box at the other end of the room that Harry hadn't even noticed before now. Instantly, he directed his gaze towards the professor, who was wearing a grin that threatened to tear apart her face.

"How did you know?" she asked, looking overly curious.

"Well, I think it's highly unlikely that a Dementor would find its way into Hogwarts and that, too, inside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom," Harry explained. "And then there's the fact that you didn't reach for your wand immediately. The look on your face made it appear as if you knew that a Dementor was around but you didn't grab your wand instantly. You slowly reached for it, as if you were telling me to take the initiative. There is no room for wasting time when you're faced with a Dementor. And of course, the effects of the Boggart aren't nearly as strong as that of a real Dementor."

The woman, who had been listening intently, suddenly looked perplexed. "And you would know that because?"

_Oh, shit.__ Didn't think about that._

"You've faced one?" she inquired, frowning.

_One? More like one hundred. Or maybe a thousand. I've lost count._ "Well, I don't exactly deny that..." he mumbled gingerly.

"As much as I'd like to, I won't pressure you to tell me why that's so. At least you recognised it as a Boggart. Can't say the same about most of the others. Alright, dismissed."

* * *

Glad that the examination ordeal was finally over, Harry spent the weekend doing absolutely nothing. He did not even think about taking a walk outside since that would have been classified as technically doing something, which he did not intend to do. But he was also aware of the fact that doing nothing was rather impossible because by not doing anything, he was doing nothing, which was actually doing something. So he changed his goal to doing as little as he could to live. Castor, on the other hand, spent Saturday and Sunday cursing his decision to take Care of Magical Creatures, the exam for which was going to be held on Monday.

And finally Monday also came. At two in the afternoon, Castor, covered in soot, entered the Slytherin Common Room, followed by a few others looking just like him.

Harry opened his mouth to say something but was silenced by his friend who pointed at him and glared, saying, "Don't even ask, Harry. Don't even ask."

"I wasn't going to ask," Harry snapped. "I was gonna order you to tell me what happened. Out with it."

Slumping next to Harry on the sofa and allowing the soot to sully it, Castor mumbled, "Very funny. Stupid Ashwinder. We were supposed to be caring for it before it laid eggs. That much we managed."

"And then it laid eggs," Harry roared with laughter, understanding what had happened. Ashwinders were known to turn into soot and dust after having laid eggs.

"On the bright side, no more exams." He stretched his arms freely. "It feels good, doesn't it?"

"In case you didn't notice, I had my last exam on Friday."

"Oh, yeah," a look of realisation dawned upon Castor. "What about that plan of yours to do almost nothing?"

"Mission accomplished. I'm back to doing things today, as you can see." Harry raised the Quidditch magazine he had been going through.

"Anything good in there?"

"Aside from the fact that the Chudley Cannons beat Pride of Portree 500-0, not really."

"What?" Castor's jaw dropped. "You mean Portree beat the Cannons 500-0, right?"

"No. The Portree players were protesting against the referee for something he did in the previous game, so they kept throwing the Quaffle into their own goalposts. Thirty-five goals makes 350 for the Cannons. The last 150 came only when the Cannons' Seeker got the Snitch to put Portree fans out of their misery."

"You hear something new every day, huh?" remarked Castor, an impressed look on his face. "A few more days and it's home for Christmas."

"Looking forward to presents?" Harry asked.

"What? No, I hardly get those. Dad and me, we're not the most popular members of our family, as you know. And it's not as if he has 'work buddies' or anything who'll get together for a drink."

At the mention of no presents, Harry felt a tinge of sympathy for his friend. After all, he knew exactly how it felt. But he had to hand it to the boy. He really didn't seem to have a care in the world, judging by the way he had told Harry that.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, realising something that had never bothered him before now. "Speaking of work, what is it that your Dad does anyway?"

"Er," began Castor. "He's sort of an importer or whatever you might call it. He arranges to get all sorts of herbs you can't find in Britain to be sent here. And then, of course, they're sold to people who can use them in Diagon Alley. The apothecary, mainly. And Severus Snape, of course."

"And the Ministry allows this?" Harry questioned, surprised.

"It's not like they have a choice, do they?" Castor grinned. "I mean, he may not be able to work at the Ministry after all that blood-traitor talk and all, but they can't stop him from doing something like this on his own. Even if they did, Dad says he'll just turn to using Muggle methods."

"I get it," Harry said, getting it.

"Anyway, enough about me. What are you going to do over the holidays? Hogwarts?"

"I honestly have no idea. But I doubt I'll be staying here. Maybe the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley or some other place. I'll think about it."

Just then, the wall that was the Common Room's entrance slid open, admitting a fuming Hermione Granger, followed by a group of students which looked ready to break down at any moment. Without a look at anyone, Hermione stomped off towards the dormitories while the others began roaming around like lost puppies.

"What's up with them?" asked Castor, bewildered.

Harry didn't have to think about it, distinctly remembering the other Hermione being rather touchy when it came to what she thought was the hardest subject of all. He answered, "Arithmancy."

"Oh."

* * *

_Readers are advised to drop a review on their way out._


	19. Diagon Alley

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

* * *

_(Monday, the twenty-second of December, Nineteen Ninety Seven)_

It was the morning of the day two days before before Christmas Eve when Harry Peverell, dressed in a pair of blue Muggle jeans and a grey jacket, was seated in the office of the esteemed headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Soon, the Hogwarts Express would be leaving Hogsmeade Station for King's Cross in London to drop off those students who had chosen to return to their families for holidays. Speaking of leaving for the holidays, that was exactly what Harry was currently there to talk about.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, peering at Harry over his half-moon spectacles.

"Yes, I'm pretty sure," Harry answered, decisively. "I've even got my things packed and ready, sir."

"If I may inquire, where exactly do you plan on staying during the holidays?"

Harry frowned. "I'm not exactly sure. Somewhere in Diagon Alley, I reckon. I do have my money and all."

Dumbledore, after apparently thinking about something, said, "While I don't think that this is a good idea, I presume that you will not let me influence your opinion in any way. Is that correct?"

Harry nodded rather stubbornly, giving off the air of a pertinacious child.

The aged headmaster sighed, "I thought so."

"Please, sir, I just feel like getting out of here for a while," Harry explained. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful for all the arrangements you've made for me - in fact, I'm very thankful - but I guess I need a change of scenery. I haven't really had the chance to go out and explore things."

Dumbledore yielded. "Have you given your name to your Head of House for a seat on the Hogwarts Express?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then there is little I can do to stop you, Harry. As an adult, you are free to do what you want. But be careful out there. Don't trust someone you meet who you knew in your own world. There is no way to ascertain how things have turned out here."

"I understand," Harry said, getting up from the chair that he had been sitting in. "I'll be seeing you later then." Sensing Fawkes looking at him from his perch, Harry turned his attention to the phoenix, adding, "And you too, Fawkes. We'll meet again."

The bird replied with a melodious trill that sent a welcome streak of warmth through Harry, who had been freezing before he had stepped into the relatively warm office of the headmaster. _Keyword: Relatively._ With a wave to the other two occupants of the room, he left for the Entrance Hall where, if his sense of time was correct, the Heads of Houses would be making sure that every student who was supposed to be leaving was present.

His sense of time did not fail him as he arrived just in time to become the second person in the Slytherin line, at the head of which stood a First Year who paled when Harry's hand brushed against his head and offered to exchange places with Harry - an offer that was gladly accepted when Harry saw that the person behind him was one of the girls who always seemed to hover around Hermione Granger in the Common Room.

Professor Runcorn, who had been talking to Professor McGonagall in the other direction, turned around, looking at the list in his hand. "Okay, who's up first? Michael Belby?" He looked up, finding a grinning Harry Peverell staring at him. "Peverell? How did you get here? Where's Belby? I could have sworn he was standing here."

The diminutive First Year peered from behind Harry, giving the Potions professor a wave. After putting a line next to his name, the Potions professor signaled Belby to go ahead and stand with the group at the doors of the Entrance Hall. Once he was gone, Runcorn directed his attention to Harry.

"Alright, Peverell. Talked to the Headmaster, then?" he inquired.

Harry merely nodded. Marking him present, the man waved Harry onwards as well.

* * *

"Finally!" Castor exclaimed as he stepped onto the Hogwarts Express after Harry at Hogsmeade Station. Harry could only reply with a grunt as he rubbed his hands together to warm them. Despite being the second person to be marked present by Runcorn, Harry ended up being the second-to-last student to board the train, losing the title of last to his friend for whom he had waited for several minutes to pop up before he boarded the train.

"First time, right?" Castor asked.

Clueless, Harry mumbled, "What?"

"This is your first time on the Express, right?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because I don't remember catching sight of you before the feast on our first day. And if we had a new student on here, I'm sure people would have been talking about him."

"Fine, fine. It's my first time, you're right," Harry lied.

"Then I should tell you that these compartments," Castor motioned at the compartments nearest to them, "are always used by Hufflepuffs, so we have nothing to do here. Onwards!"

Rolling his eyes, Harry followed his friend through the train, passing cabins unofficially reserved for Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws until they came to what Castor called 'the Slytherin block'.

When Harry reached out to slide open the door of a compartment, Castor quickly reached out and pulled him away, shaking his head like a parent telling their child not to do something.

"What's the matter now?" Harry asked.

"You can't sit in there. It's the first one in the Slytherin block. Why don't you just go and ask the Ravenclaws whether you can join them?"

"Oh, come on!" Harry complained. "You're being stupid. I'm sure we can sit wherever we want."

"You can, but you shouldn't."

"And why is that?"

"It's an unwritten rule," Castor stated straightforwardly.

"Of course. How about this one?" Harry asked, reaching for the next one.

"No. Too smelly."

"That one?"

"A kid vomited in there last year when his dinner didn't agree with him. I'm never going in there."

Harry, whose temper was at its limit, spoke through clenched teeth as he pointed at the fifth compartment they passed by, "I'm sure there's nothing wrong with this one. Right?"

After a moment of reflection, Castor answered, "I dunno, It's number five in the Slytherin block. I don't like the number five."

"I give up! Where is it that you plan on finally taking a seat?" Harry asked furiously.

Harry got the answer to that question when Castor took him to the farthest end of the train to the last compartment.

"Here."

"Finally!"

They stepped inside and Castor, the only one with any hand luggage, tossed his bag onto the floor and slumped onto the seat opposite Harry, who looked glad to be inside the safety of a compartment.

"So, Castor," Harry spoke up after a short while. "What's so special about this compartment?"

"All in good time, Harry," was the ambiguous reply. "Anyway, on to more important matters. Where are you gonna go once we get off at King's Cross?"

"Diagon Alley, I think."

"You know, you could always visit me," his friend offered. "It gets boring when you don't have someone your age at home."

"Er, I'm grateful for the offer, but I'd rather not impose myself on you."

"If I'm inviting you, I doubt you're imposing."

"That, too. But no. I think I'd like to be on my own for a while. No offence."

"Oh, okay then," Castor said with a hint of sadness that disappeared in an instant as he pulled out a deck of cards from the pocket of his robes and waved them at Harry. "Okay then, Exploding Snap?"

Before Harry had the chance to accept or refuse, the door to the compartment slid open, revealing two very familiar faces from his own house.

"Hello Rookwood, Granger. Exploding Snap?" Castor cheerily greeted.

"What are you doing here, Black?" asked Everard Rookwood, completely ignoring the boy's greeting.

"What do you mean by that, huh?"

"You're in my spot," Rookwood pointed accusingly at Castor.

Harry, who had been bewildered by what was happening, finally understood. It all clicked into place. Castor had been planning on sitting in this carriage from the start. _All in good time,_ he had said. This was as good a time as any. _He knew that Rookwood and Hermione were going to come here. They must always have sat here and now Castor's decided to bother them._ Sometimes, Harry wondered why he was friends with Castor - the boy seemed to do things first and thought about the consequences much later. The answer to this was swiftly provided by the realisation that that was exactly what Harry also did.

"Why can't we all just sit here peacefully?" Harry tried to work out a solution. "Work with me here. Hermione?"

Hermione Granger, who had been standing behind Rookwood, bored by his bickering with Castor, raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Tell Rookwood that we can all be civil with each other for a few hours."

"But we can't, Peverell," Hermione tersely explained. "Now what would you be doing in this compartment?"

"Sitting, as you can see. And waiting, too, to get to London."

Ignoring his impudent reply, she asked, "I've tried to be civil, as you said, with you, but you seem to have a personal vendetta against me. Have you made the Unbreakable Vow to be a constant thorn in my side?"

"No, I haven't. Besides, we came here first. And I'm pretty sure you were in another compartment because I and Castor were the last people to board and you weren't in here when we decided to sit here, were you?"

Sighing, Hermione chose not to retort and turned her attention to Rookwood. "Come on, Everard. We'll just go back to Stark's cabin."

But Rookwood didn't agree with her as he glared daggers at Castor from the seat right next to him. Harry almost let out a snort at the idea of the normally aloof Rookwood losing his cool over a seat. But then again, it was probably more than a seat for him. From what Harry had seen, Castor and Rookwood had a very strange relationship. One moment they would be courteous towards each other and the next, they were trying to do the other in. For Rookwood to give up and move out would be seen as a victory for Castor. _They're probably only kind at times because they have nothing better to do._

"Are you even listening to me?" Hermione asked.

"You really should listen to her, Everard," Castor piped up childishly.

"Oh, no, I'm not leaving, Hermione," he snapped, drawing out his wand. "I've had enough of this half-blood's 'jokes'. He's the real thorn in the side, not Peverell."

In an instant, Harry was up, the Elder Wand in his hand pointing at Rookwood's ear. As Rookwood's peered out of the corners of his eyes, Harry spoke in an authoritative manner.

"One move, Rookwood. That's all you need to make for me to attack you."

"Are you sure you want to do that, Peverell?" a low whisper asked him from behind.

Not taking his eyes off of Rookwood, Harry turned his head to his side and saw, in his peripheral vision, Hermione Granger's wand pointed at his back. The silence that proceeded to cover the room was so thick that you could hear a quill drop.

"Resorting to wands, are we then?" Castor said, shattering the quiet and revealing his own wand from inside his robe's sleeve. "I'm not sure that's a good idea on a train."

"Then why don't you leave? Then we can all go our separate ways," said Rookwood.

"We were here first, as you already know. I don't see how you own this compartment."

"I don't."

"Then why pretend like you do?" Harry asked, unable to resist the temptation of saying something.

But before anyone out of the four had an opportunity to say something, a very familiar sound was heard calling out, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Quicker than it took to blink, all four students had theirs wands back in their pockets. If the trolley witch caught them with their wands pointing at each other, there was no doubt that they would have been sent back to Hogwarts. This fact wasn't lost on anyone. Rookwood, who had been so tenacious in his pursuit of his spot just a few minutes ago, sighed and stomped out of the cabin after throwing both Harry and Castor a dirty look. An annoyed Hermione Granger followed him out, mumbling something to herself all the way.

Relaxing at last, Harry sat back down. "You know, Castor. You're gonna get yourself killed because of this attitude of yours someday."

"At least I'll die happy then."

"You chose this compartment because you knew those two were gonna come here."

"Right you are, Harry, as usual. Now, Exploding Snap?"

* * *

After innumerable games of Exploding Snap and feasting on whichever confections he and Castor could get hold of off the trolley, Harry stepped out of his compartment as the Hogwarts Express pulled into King Cross at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The corridor was already crowded and Harry was swept away in the tide of students as they hastened to step out onto the platform.

A gust of cold wind struck him when he stepped out. The platform, looking just like it always had, was currently playing host to numerous families who had come to pick the students up. Harry, who had become used to being alone, didn't feel the pang of regret he was used to when he saw people reuniting with their families. But in spite of that, the sight of the embracing parents and students around him brought back memories of the Weasleys. _They're not here. You're never getting back now._ He forced himself to push those thoughts to the back of his head.

"So this is it for now, huh, Harry?" Castor asked, stepping up to stand next to Harry, surveying the crowd.

"For now, yeah," replied Harry with a nod of his head. "Spotted your dad?"

"Nah, I don't think he's here yet."

Harry, who had become aware of the stares of several people on him, said, "I'll be going then. Best not hang around here too long."

His friend shook his hand as a farewell. "See you later, Harry. Have a good Christmas."

"You, too," Harry said, heading over to the luggage pile at the head of the train.

With a little effort, he soon spotted his trunk lying under a duffel bag. He dragged it out and tapped it swiftly with his wand. _Reducio._ The trunk shrunk significantly until it was small enough to fit into the mokeskin pouch that also held his money. The pouch securely placed inside his pocket, Harry followed the family of a Hufflepuff student whom he had never seen before out into the Muggle world, careful not to look into anyone's eyes.

Dodging the crowd of Muggles, Harry hurried to the safety of the toilets, where he made sure that no one was around to see him. Feeling secure, he concentrated, bringing an image of the Leaky Cauldron as he remembered it into his mind - an image of a grubby little pub. And the next second, he felt himself being squeezed through space as if he were passing through a very narrow tube. A breath of fresh air signaled his arrival at the doors of the Leaky Cauldron. Behind him, Charing Cross Road was as crowded as ever, filled with Muggles going about their business, unaware of Harry, who had Apparated within the limits of the wards around the pub.

Upon entering, Harry found the Leaky Cauldron filled with the sounds of people chattering away and glasses clinking together. Not a single table was empty. But that didn't bother Harry. He wasn't here to have a drink - at least that wasn't his main purpose here. Pushing his way through the crowd, Harry went over to the bar, where the toothless barman - Tom, as Harry knew he was called - was involved in an animated conversation with two other bald men. Seeing Harry approach him, he excused himself from the pair an turned to the newcomer.

"What can I get you, son?" he asked, reaching out for a tall champagne flute.

Harry, taking a seat on a stool, told him to put the glass away with a wave of dismissal. "I was wondering if I could get a room here for a week or so."

The bald bartender spread his arms, telling Harry to look around. "Business is booming these days. Not a single empty room."

Harry grimaced. "When do think a room's gonna be free?"

"Well," Tom said, running his finger over a scroll of parchment. "Not before two days after Christmas, at least. That's when Archie here's going to leave." He motioned towards one of the men he had earlier been talking to.

"Any idea where I could get a place to stay around here?" Harry inquired hopefully.

After a moment's thought, Tom answered, "I reckon you could get one in Diagon Alley, of course. Perhaps even in Knockturn Alley, but you'd best stay away from there. Not a lot of good folk, if you ask me." The last line was said in a hushed whisper.

The young wizard nodded and stood up. "Alright, thanks for the help."

"Are you sure you don't want a drink?" Tom asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Harry went over to the back of the inn, coming into the small space in front of the brick wall that separated not only the Leaky Cauldron, but all of Muggle London from Diagon Alley. He tapped a few bricks and stepped back as the wall began to part, revealing a doorway into the famous Wizarding marketplace.

While he had already been to Diagon Alley with Dumbledore when they had visited Gringotts, they had arrived via phoenix and Harry had had little time to go exploring, only catching sight of a small part of the street. At first sight, it was the same Alley that he had been used to in his world. It was still as bright (as bright as something could be when covered in snow), still as crowded and still as noisy. The only difference was that there were some shops that he had never seen in the other Diagon Alley.

The Apothecary was still there and so was the Owl Emporium, filled with hooting birds who looked at Harry in a way that made him uneasy, as if they were gazing into his very soul. But Harry was sure that Borgin and Burkes had never been in Diagon Alley. The shop was right next to Quality Quidditch Supplies and provided a sharp contrast to the colourful souvenirs in the windows of the Quidditch store. Tearing his eyes away from the various masks and eyeballs that stared lifelessly at him, Harry moved forward.

He passed by the entrance to Knockturn Alley, stopping for a moment, wondering whether or not to go in there. The biggest - and only - attraction of the rundown street was the fact that it wasn't as crowded as Diagon Alley. Yet, reason won out and Harry decided that there were worse things than a crowded street and so he stayed in Diagon Alley, asking anyone who would listen for directions to an inn.

Following the instructions given to him by a handsome witch, Harry found himself in a relatively secluded part of Diagon Alley beyond Gringotts - a place where he had never been to prior to this day. Dusty windows, two storeys, grey exterior and a tilted sign that read '_The Inn_'. This was the place, alright. He couldn't help but think that the inn's owners had been lazy. _Who calls an inn 'The Inn'?_ But then again, the Wizarding World had a tradition of peculiar names. _Best example: The Leaky Cauldron._ At least this wasn't called 'The Slimy Slug' or 'The Babbling Banshee'.

He pushed open the door and found himself in a surprisingly clean room. Judging by the dusty windows, he had surmised that the inside might be like something right out of Knockturn Alley. Instead, he found himself in a medium-sized room with four round tables, each with four chairs around it, all unoccupied. The walls were as gray as the outside of the inn, decorated only by a few paintings of trees and birds that fluttered between the different frames. The light in the room had a blue tinge to it. Either that or it only appeared to be so due to the dominance of the bluish gray colour in the furniture.

At the end opposite end of the room was a long wooden counter which ended close to a spiral staircase that led to the upper story. Behind the counter sat someone. Harry couldn't see their face since it was concealed by the magazine that the person was reading. But one look at the hands that grasped the paper told Harry that it was a female. Besides, what man would ever touch _Witch Weekly?_ This was confirmed when he walked up to the counter and she peeked over the paper, giving him a questioning look through her glasses, which were as yellow as her blond hair, making her dark eyes all the more noticeable.

"What can I do you for?" she asked in a husky voice, running her eyes over him.

Harry did a double take. "What?"

"I mean, what can I do for you?" she hastily 'corrected' herself.

"Er, I'm looking for a room. You wouldn't happen to have one, would you?"

"Look around. The whole place's empty. Of course, there's a room."

"What's the price?"

"Two galleons a day. That's three if you want to include food," she stated mechanically as if she had memorised the sentence.

"Two galleons?" Harry asked, shocked. "Isn't that a lot for- for..."

"For a little place like this?" the young woman snapped, going back to her magazine. "Take it or leave it. " She lowered the paper again and winked. "Unless you wanna pay in some other way."

Harry turned around and spoke louder than he intended to, "No, I don't. I'll go sleep in the street outside."

"Fine with me," she sighed.

Harry was almost at the door, ready to leave, when he heard someone hurry into the room. He turned around to see a slightly heavy, kind-faced woman stride into the room, her graying yellow hair tied in a bun.

"Who's going to sleep in the street outside?" she was saying, taking away the magazine. "Gwendolen, did you drive out a customer again!? No wonder this place is always empty!"

"It's Gwen, mum!" the girl whined childishly.

The woman ignored her and looked over at Harry, calling him back to the counter and hastily apologising, "I'm really sorry if Gwen gave you any trouble. I should have known better than to look after the lobby while I was in the back."

"Who's there to look out for here?" Gwendolen sulked.

The woman asked "Can I help you, Mister..."

"Peverell. Harry Peverell. Nice to meet you."

"Elaine Frost. A pleasure to meet you, too. It really is wonderful to find a young man with such manners."

Harry merely nodded while Gwen muttered audibly, "Peverell, Peverell. Where have I heard that name before?"

Harry bit his lip when he heard her say that.

"How long will you be staying, Mr. Peverell?"

"Around a week."

"Okay," she said, noting down something on a piece of parchment. "You can pay each day or at the end of your stay."

"I'll pay daily," Harry said, taking out three gold coins and placing them on the counter. "That's three for a bed and food, right?"

"Three?" Elaine asked, puzzled. "Good heavens, no. It's one for a bed and ten sickles for meals."

Harry shot a dirty look at Gwendolen, who backed away nervously. Elaine traced Harry's line of sight and her eyes also found their way to her daughter.

"Gwendolen!" she scolded. "Did you tell him we take three galleons?! Good heavens! What were you thinking?! Now I'm sure that we're empty because of you." She turned back to Harry. "I'm sorry. Business hasn't been really good these days. Being at the back of Diagon Alley does have its disadvantages."

"Oh, no. No need to apologise," Harry hastily said, replacing two galleons with ten silver coins which were scooped up by Elaine, who handed over a silver key to Harry.

"That's for the last room on the left when you go upstairs," she explained, pointing to the spiral staircase. "The doors have an anti-Alohomora spell on them, so come to me in case you lose the key. As for your luggage..." Her voice trailed off.

Smiling, Harry patted his pocket. "I've got everything I need, Mrs. Frost. Thank you."

No sooner had he started towards the staircase that Gwendolen gave an 'aah' of understanding.

"I remember," she called. "You're that Hogwarts student who won this year's dueling competition, aren't you?"

Harry, whose heart had almost stopped beating when she announced that she remembered who he was, gave an inward sigh of relief and said, "How do you know that?"

"The Daily Prophet, of course. They always print the name of the winner in a short column," she told him.

_Short? Good. The shorter, the better._ Shaking his head, Harry ascended the creaking stairs and came onto the upper storey, finding himself in a narrow corridor with three white doors on either side. He slid the key into the keyhole and pushed open the door.

The room wasn't large, but neither was it too small. His eyes first fell on one of the dusty windows which opened out into Diagon Alley. There was a bed, covered in green sheets, which was large enough for an average-sized man to sleep in comfortably. Right beneath the window were two armchairs angled towards each other with a round table in between. On the wall opposite the bed was a mirror with another table beneath it. There was a brown wardrobe right next to the door. Next to the bed was another door which, Harry presumed, led to the washroom. What pleased him most was that everything, unlike the windows, was in neat condition.

Satisfied, Harry relocked the door, not even bothering to put his truck inside and went downstairs, determined to look around Diagon Alley now that he did not have to worry about finding a place to stay.

"Everything to your liking, Peverell?" called the owner's daughter, sarcasm dripping from her voice. Harry, who was ignoring her, guessed she would be receiving an earful from her mother soon and was blaming Harry for that. _Serves her right._

* * *

Harry stood in front of the shop with his jaw hanging. He had almost forgotten about its existence until he passed it by. The spotless glass windows displayed several concoctions in small silver pots made to look like little cauldrons. Of course, the shops wasn't going to be attracting any children due to the lack of bright colours. There was an unexplainable sophistication to the shop. Perhaps it was the major use of black and silver colours or perhaps it was just that unlike most shops is Diagon Alley, this one hadn't stuffed everything it had into the window display. Or maybe it was just the fact that the sign over the shop said in bold lettering: ''_Severus_"

He had to suppress a chuckle. Never in a million years would he have thought that Snape would name his shop 'Severus'. But then again, he never would have thought that the snide potion-brewer would run a shop. And so, unsure about what to do, he stood there, gazing at the shop like a stunned fool. It was after a minute of this that a face appeared in the window.

_Oh, no._

The ever-greasy Severus Snape, clothed in his usual black to match his hair, was looking at Harry with a gaze so piercing that it made him want to run away as fast as he could. A throb of pain in his head announced a failed attempt at Legilimency (something that made Harry want to smile smugly). He could have sworn he saw the corners of Snape's lips curve upwards for a split second before the familiar scowl remade its home on the face with the hooked nose. Snape lifted a finger and called Harry inside before immediately turning away, causing Harry to gulp. His instincts telling him to Apparate out of there, Harry entered the store after a minute of hesitation.

It was rather small; much smaller than what Harry had expected when he had looked at it from the outside. The floor was, predictably, black. _Thanks heavens he left the walls white._ Behind the glass reception counter sat a dark-skinned young man, only a few years older than Harry by the looks of him. He was scribbling in a heavy book. And behind him were two shelves, one lined with large books and another holding pots similar to the ones in the window display. Right above the head of the writing man hung a sign saying: '_Place orders here._' Then Harry realised that the shop wasn't filled with potions because they were only brewed upon request. That explained why the shop was small, too. Snape, though, was nowhere to be found.

The dark man looked up and motioned towards the doors at the end of the room. "He said that you're supposed to meet him in there. The one on the left. The right one's the lab."

Harry nodded and went over to the door, his mind and heart racing at breakneck pace, contemplating whether or not to enter. After much internal debate, he turned the doorknob and found himself inside a surprisingly inviting room. The carpet was emerald green and the walls were a silver that seemed to glow. _Slytherin colours, of course._ As expected, there were rows and rows of heavy and old volumes lining all four walls. Before the opposite wall was a table with several quills and notes on it, as well as test-tubes. But Harry didn't care about those things. Severus Snape, sitting on a large chair with one leg crossed over the other, was looking at Harry with a fist over his mouth, as if deep in thought.

"Take a seat, Mr. Peverell," he asked.

"You remember me," Harry blurted out, sitting down on a chair opposite the desk.

"We have met, haven't we? In Professor Dumbledore's office."

"Of course. Er, how do you do?"

"Spare me the pleasantries, Mr. Peverell. We both know that no one actually means what they say."

Harry found himself grinning at that. "Nice shop you have here. I was just admiring it."

"Yes, I was wondering what you were doing out in the cold looking at my shop. I don't expect many people to look at a potions shop in amazement. I hear you've made quite the impression as Albus' nephew."

The hint of mockery in his voice didn't go unnoticed by Harry, who asked, "So you know about that?"

"Of course. You should hear Bellatrix talk about you. She visited my shop a few weeks ago and I had to cast a Silencing Charm on her," Snape deadpanned. "You have met Bella, correct?"

Harry nodded. "How much do you know?"

"Not a lot, I admit. But I do know that Albus doesn't have any nephews or nieces. In fact, I severely doubt that the man has any living relatives at all. And I'm also perfectly aware of the fact that phoenix ash flows in your veins." Harry fidgeted in his seat as Snape continued, "So I'm correct. That solves the mystery of the unusual request of the headmaster's. What is it that you have to hide, Mr. Peverell, if that is indeed your real name?"

"And why do you care so much about it, Mr. Snape?" Harry asked, bringing on a calm facade.

"Call it curiosity."

"Curiosity did kill the cat, didn't it?"

"And yet, Minerva McGonagall is still alive. Do not digress, Mr. Peverell."

"Believe me, if I could tell you, I would. Besides, even if I did explain everything, the chances that you'll believe me are," Harry paused. "Nonexistent."

"Try me," Snape muttered curtly.

"Alright, then. What if I told you that I come from a distant planet, far from Earth?"

Snape frowned. "Don't be ridiculous, boy."

"See? If you don't believe this, there is no way that you'll be willing to accept my real situation," Harry told the greasy potion-brewer. "My situation is rather precarious. I would be... grateful... if you did not pressure me further - unless you're willing to deal with the consequences." There. He had just threatened Severus Snape in his own den. Harry felt like he could take over the world (not that he wanted to).

"You have guts, Mr. Peverell. I'll give you that. But you're rather foolish, too. You would have done well in Gryffindor. Can you not see that you are currently in my office? What makes you think that you can best me here - or anywhere, for that matter?"

"Call it a hunch," Harry said. "Look, don't you trust Professor Dumbledore?"

"I don't believe I do," Snape whispered fiercely, leaning forwards. "Age can mess with even the best of minds."

"And yet, you brewed the phoenix ash potion for him. Do you mean to tell me that you would have handed over such a concoction to anyone in exchange for money? No, Mr. Snape, I think you're better than that. Deep down, you trust that man, even if you don't do it wholeheartedly. If it were someone else, would you have given them the potion, aware of the fact that it could be used for criminal purposes? No. While I'm aware that Professor Dumbledore makes mistakes just like the best of us - heck, he might even forget others in pursuit of some higher purpose - but you can't deny that the man has an eye for danger. Would he really have given me this potion unless it wasn't absolutely necessary?"

Snape, who had been listening to Harry's speech with the highest degree of attention, opened his mouth to retort but closed it when none came. He finally said, "It seems, Mr. Peverell, that you aren't a total fool. Albus does get carried away at times. You seem to know him quite well for a person who only met him recently."

"We've had..." Harry's voice trailed off as he racked his brain for an appropriate expression. "Time to bond."

Snape sighed in a manner very unlike him, as if he was giving up. "I doubt I will be getting anything out of you soon. It appears that these bonding moments of yours included lessons in being vague all the time." When Harry opened his mouth to say something, the man cut him off, "Yes, your secret is safe with me. I do not know what stunt you and the headmaster are pulling but I'd rather not have any part in it."

"If that's all," Harry said, getting up. "I'll be leaving then. Thank you for your hospitality."

Snape glared at Harry, looking into his eyes. The expression on his face soon wavered though, betraying a look of longing when he saw Harry's green eyes. Probably realising what he was doing, Snape shook his head as if to clear his mind and said, "A pleasure. Don't let me find you staring at my shop again, Mr. Peverell."

"Oh, you can count on it," Harry told him, closing the door behind him to avoid hearing whatever retort Snape was going to throw his way.

* * *

It was around eight when Harry returned back to The Inn, carrying a brown paper bag with a copy of _The Incomplete Guide to the Dark Arts_ in it. While he knew that no one in the bookshop or outside thought it odd that he was carrying such a book, Harry thought it was best if the inn's resident family didn't see it. Elaine seemed like a nice enough woman. Harry was even prepared to admit that she had a motherly air reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley about her.

This time around, The Inn wasn't empty. Two of the round tables, he saw, were occupied - one by a group of elderly wizards and another by two couples who appeared to be on a double date, judging by the looks they were giving each other. Harry thanked the heavens that he hadn't eaten anything or he would have vomited by just watching their lovestruck expressions. The Frosts were probably in the back. Taking advantage, Harry smuggled the book upstairs, walking like any ordinary person relieved to be out of the cold.

The book safely placed under the bed covers, Harry went back downstairs, this time finding Gwendolen (Harry decided that he would refer to her as that since it annoyed her) sipping Firewhiskey. He took his seat at the counter and waited for her to realised that he was present.

"What can I get you, handsome?" she said, her eyes looking blurred.

Harry sighed. "You're drunk, Gwendolen."

"Geez," she snapped. "What do you want?"

"Food. Whatever you have tonight."

"Hold on," she said, stumbling through the door to the back. She was back in a few minutes, holding a plate of potatoes, some chicken and a serving of pudding. Placing it in front of Harry, she asked, "Anything to drink?"

"Yeah, water," Harry told her, digging in.

"Water?" Her hand reached over to the bottle of Firewhiskey.

"That's not water."

"Oh, come on." She scowled. "Live a little!"

"No, thanks. I'd like my water now."

Muttering furiously under he breath, the young woman filled a mug with water and placed it next to Harry's plate, watching him wolf down the food as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"What house you in, Peverell?" she slurred, taking a sip of her drink.

"Slytherin."

"You aren't one of them purebloods-rule bastards, are you?" she asked.

Harry looked up from his plate and glared, causing her to recoil and say, "Oh, shite." But when Harry told her that he was not a 'purebloods-rule bastard', she visibly relaxed and muttered something about how it was the Firewhiskey that made her say it and she wasn't looking to die any time soon. Harry grinned as he saw her stuff the bottle away.

Having finished the food and not being in the mood to deal with a drunk coquette, Harry stood up and went over to the stairs. "My compliments to your mum, Gwendolen."

"It's Gwen! And dad made that."

"Fine, give the compliments to him, Gwendolen," Harry said, going upstairs.

Back in his room, Harry changed into his nightwear and tossed his clothes into his re-enlarged trunk. Sitting on one of the chairs under the window, Harry ran a hand over the book he had bought. He hadn't thought about what he was buying. He had been trying to pass time my going through the titles of books when he recognised this one as the book that he had caught Hermione Granger reading in the Common Room. Even though he believed that he could easily have defeated her if he had actually fought to kill, Harry couldn't deny that she was a skilled duelist. And she had definitely used spells out of this book. He preferred to think of his reading the book as 'getting to know the enemy'. The possibility that he could learn something useful didn't hurt either.

He turned to look out the window, staring at the street down below, which had become more crowded now than it had been earlier. Wrapped in layers of clothing, wizards and witches were making their way up and down Diagon Alley. A few children appeared to have started a snowball fight and were being told off by a man in a nightcap. The lamps in the street were beginning to be extinguished as people left for their houses or wherever they were staying, holding piles of presents.

Looking at the wrapped gifts, Harry was reminded of how he wasn't going to receive any this year, how he didn't have anyone to send a present to. Castor was the only option but neither of them knew where the other was staying. The street became dark and the dim light of the lamp in his room became the only source of light as Harry tried to look outside unsuccessfully, finding only his faint reflection in the mirror staring back at him. It was perhaps now, after having been in this world for so long, finally away from Hogwarts, that Harry actually realised how alone he was.

* * *

_Hope you liked it. Not much happened in this chapter so you might even call it a filler. The next one is going to be different though.  
_

_As always, readers are advised to drop a review into the comment box on their way out. _


	20. The Witch Who Stole Christmas

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

* * *

Harry spent the next day locked in his room, poring over his Flourish and Blotts purchase. But he had been restricted to theory only since he didn't exactly have the place to just whip out his wand and start throwing around random spells that he had never used before. He had been right about this book's contents forming the bulk of Hermione Granger's dueling arsenal.

What had really caught his attention were spells that seemed to be simple variations of extremely basic spells. Who knew there was a variation of the Disarming Charm which could burn the target? He had been tempted to cast the Shadow Prison Curse - _Tenebrae_ - that Hermione had used against the Gryffindor in the dueling tournament. Unable to resist, he had ended up dropping his trunk with a resounding thud that had brought Mrs. Frost up to his door when he experienced a sudden lapse in concentration which he owed to his being overly pleased at his attempt at the spell.

But rather than focusing on the curses themselves, Harry was paying more attention to the counter-curses, which were listed right next to their respective target curses. He had only realised the importance of the counter-curses when he had had a grotesque image of himself being trapped in the Shadow Prison several feet above solid ground without any way to escape. In a place where these spells were considered vital components of a witch or wizard's arsenal, he couldn't hope to survive without knowing how to counter each and every one of them. Here again, he had been confronted with the problem of not being able to practice. It wasn't that he feared making a ruckus that hindered him, but the mere fact that he didn't have an opponent to practice on. And so, there he was, making random movements that resulted in shimmers of magic that had nothing to act upon.

* * *

Before he knew it, the morning of Christmas Eve was upon Diagon Alley.

A yawning Harry Peverell shuffled out of bed and dragged himself to the bathroom to get ready. He had no plans whatsoever for the day. _Why did I even bother to get up?_ What in the world was he supposed to do? Perhaps he ought to go down and drown himself in Firewhiskey, just for today. He forced his senses back into himself by telling himself that he was being ridiculously immature. So what if there was no one to celebrate with him? This wasn't the first time. He had spent every Christmas before turning eleven by himself.

Once he was out, he shrunk his trunk and placed it back into the mokeskin pouch - an odd habit that he had acquired. The trunk seemed to him to be the only familiar thing he had - and he was not about to let go of it. And thus he descended The Inn's staircase in a mood that kept oscillating between gloom and indifference.

The decorations in the room contrasted severely with his feelings at the moment. The walls were covered with holly wreaths hung at equal distance from each other. In the center stood a large Christmas tree with little, golden birds flying around it. The little models of gnomes would burst into random carols before becoming silent for an indefinite period of time. Harry was sure that the gnome on top of the tree, though, was no model. Someone had decided to silence it and stick it to the glowing star at the tree's peak. It glared at Harry, which seemed to lift his spirits. He never liked the nasty little blighters.

The biggest difference, though, was the presence of many people in the room. During the last two days, there had barely been any visitors and only two people were actually staying at The Inn - himself and a middle-aged wizard. But now there was a dramatic increase in the number of people there. Three of the tables were full, occupied by cheery families dressed heavily from head to toe. The fourth table played host to the aforementioned middle-aged wizard, who had dozed off on the spot. Harry took his usual seat at the bar.

"Morning, Sunshine," greeted Gwen Frost, her nose perpetually buried in her copy of Witch Weekly.

"Where's Sunshine?" Harry asked, looking around.

"Why, there he is," she pointed at him and said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "A smile wouldn't hurt, you know. 'Tis the season to be jolly, after all."

Harry gave her a travesty of a smile, his mouth open in a huge grin. "That satisfy you?"

"Oh, it takes a whole lot more than that to satisfy me."

Feeling he'd rather not go there, Harry decided to change the topic. "Breakfast would be nice."

"I trust it would."

"And I sure would like some."

"I know you would."

"Geez, Gwendolen! Get me something to eat, okay?"

"Gwen! Gwen! Gwen!" she repeated in order to drill her 'real' name into his head. "How many times do I have to say it?"

"Why so touchy? I'm hungry."

"Boys," she sighed, defeated, and went into the back and popped out within minutes with two plates in her hand; one piled with toast and eggs, and the other with sausages.

She laid out the two dishes and two more plates in front of Harry, along with two cups and a pot of tea. Harry's eyes followed her mechanical progress until she came over and jumped into the seat beside him and grabbed herself something to eat.

"What? Am I really that beautiful?" she asked, winking when she caught sight of him staring at her.

"You flatter yourself," Harry sighed, helping himself to toast.

"Oh, come on. Cheer up! Give me a smile. A real one. Just once. Please?"

Harry gave up and flashed what he thought would look like a genuine smile. Her face lit up.

"See? It's not that difficult. You look so much better this way." When Harry's smile dipped, she said, "You have issues, Peverell. What's up with you?"

"It's not your business, Gwendolen."

"I'm making it my business."

"It's nothing."

"No," she told him firmly. "There's definitely something."

"Seriously, it's nothing. I just miss my friends. That's all," Harry confessed. "Feels a bit weird celebrating Christmas alone after all this time. I doubt I'll celebrate another one with them."

"Oh..." her tone dropped. "Yeah...I guess it does. Can't really blame you then."

"That was rather understanding of you," Harry remarked in between bites.

She shrugged. "I know how you feel. Sort of."

"You do? Why is that?"

"Why should I tell you that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because I told you 'what's up' with me."

Her smile saddened. "I... Well, you see, last year in the summer, my brother Simon...he was an assistant up at Ollivander's...He got into a fight with some purebloods-rule bastards, something about him not paying the new rent for The Inn."

Harry understood what she was going to say and immediately felt bad for having 'blackmailed' her into telling him something like this, and that too when she had been going on about the importance of being happy and having a smile on your face.

"It's alright, you don't have to tell me anything else..." he mumbled, wishing that the ground opened up and swallowed him whole.

But it was as if she hadn't heard him and she kept going on, more to herself than to anyone else, "He told them that he'd paid the increased rent, but they said that half-bloods pay fifty percent extra. This all happened here. They gave us a week. Said it was either money or his life. Business here never was strong, you know. Who wants to come stay with a pack of half-bloods? So Simon, he said he'd go talk to them again and ask for some kind of reprieve. We...we warned him it was worthless, but he never listened. He was headstrong like that."

Her voice, which had held up surprisingly well till now, began to show cracks and signs of breaking. "He didn't come back the next day. And then...then Mum's cousin - he's in the Muggle police force - he contacted us. Simon's body was found in an alley in London."

Her eyes were glistening with tears that would not flow, held back by the dam of her eyelids, which she had glued together. Harry, who had been listening to her without opening his mouth, offered her his condolences. _Good job ruining her day, Harry!_

"And the killers?" Harry's curiosity forced him to ask against his will. "They weren't caught?"

She laughed a bitter laugh. "Fat chance! We didn't have proof. There were no wounds on his body, so it was obvious it was a wizard's job. But we couldn't go and accuse our landlord now, could we? Struggling half-bloods against well-to-do pure-bloods. We all know how that ends. We would have been lucky if we'd even entered the court, forget winning the case."

"And you're still here?"

She nodded solemnly, toying absentmindedly with a sausage. "Dad works other jobs in the day to make the rent. We survive on what we make here. But - but that's not the point. What I meant to say was that I know how it feels to spend a day like today without someone you're used to having around you. When you see everyone else, all those families outside, those brothers and sisters, you can't help but think 'why me?'. Why do I have to be the one who's on her own? But we don't have a choice in these matters. Shit happens.

"Best to move on, that's what they say. And they're right. Worrying isn't going to help anyone. But there's always a part of you which misses them, that wants them to be with them again. And that's the part you've got to keep in check. Better people than us have been driven mad with grief. So, yeah. I feel you, Peverell."

Gwen wiped away her tears with the back of her hand and gave him a sad smile before focusing blankly on her plate, which appeared to have become the most riveting thing in the world for her. Harry stayed quiet. Drowning out the sounds of the other customers, he pondered the meaning of the woman's words, something he only managed to do once he got over how serious and mature Gwendolen could be. He hadn't expected this from her.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "I shouldn't have rambled like that. Now you probably think I'm a baby who can't accept something that's happened."

"No," Harry told her. "Of course, not. People need to talk about stuff like that. Keeping it bottled inside isn't going to help." _I speak from experience._ "And there's loads of truth in what you said. Why spend time worrying over something you can't change? Thanks for letting me know that. I was beginning to forget it."

"Oh?" she asked, getting behind the counter. "Glad I could be of help..."

Harry placed the day's payment on the counter's top from where it was swiftly picked up by Gwen. He got up to go outside. He was at the door when he froze. Turning around, he went back to the bar, where Gwendolen was accepting another customer's payment. When the man left, Harry asked one last question.

"Gwen, who was this landlord of yours?"

"Why?" she questioned, confusion written across her face.

"Just asking."

"Borgin, if you must know. Him and his buddy, Caractacus Burke. But he's dead now, that son of a hag. Now Borgin runs that shop of his."

"Okay, thanks," Harry said before leaving The Inn.

* * *

Knowing fully well that reason had been replaced by rashness, Harry marched up Diagon Alley, his eyes fixed ahead, indifferent to the jovial crowd around him. Sizable crowds thronged the shops in an effort to grab something before they closed up for the holiday. But he only had eyes for one shop. Borgin and Burkes. Truth be told, he had not the slightest idea as to what he would do once he got there. Yet, he couldn't stop himself.

He couldn't be afraid of what might become of him if he did something really outrageous. No. Fear was a weakness which needed to be suppressed. He couldn't just stand back. Fear was what had prevented the Frosts from taking actions. It was what had prevented justice from being served. While Harry wasn't going to take justice into his hands, he felt he should just let the guilty party know that they had to be on their toes. You didn't get away with murder just because you were a pure-blood. They needed a reminder.

At last, the shop came into view. Or not. What came into view was the crowd gathered around the shop. But this group was much larger than the ones that Harry had seen at other places. _What attraction does he have now?_ He couldn't imagine something in Borgin and Burkes that would attract not only adults but little children as well - unless, of course, children in this world were allowed to play with eyeballs at the age of five. _Unlikely._

When he got to the spot, he found the entrance blocked by the crowd. Muttering excuses and apologies, Harry pushed his way in between the throng and managed to step foot inside after much exertion. He slipped past the crowd that had formed a circle around something he couldn't see, thanks to a group of rather large visitors. Not even bothering to listen to what was being said, he brought himself into the open space at the back of the shop, behind gray curtains.

The decor was surely different from how it had been in the other world, where the shop was situated in Knockturn Alley, but it was definitely the same place. No other shop would be selling Hands of Glory. Behind a glass counter, he caught sight of a stooping man with a pair of pince-nez resting on atop his nose, his oily hair slicked back in a way eerily reminiscent of Draco Malfoy. Borgin. _Speaking of Malfoy, where in the world is he?_ The proprietor was involved in a conversation with a man whom Harry hadn't seen before.

Harry began pacing around, looking at random objects. What caught his eye was a thin deck of cards. He didn't find anything special about them, really. He was merely surprised by the fact that something so innocuous could be found in this place. But then again, innocuous things were the ones that were the most dangerous.

"The Connecting Cards," a voice said to him glibly. Borgin had sneaked up on him once the other wizard left and was looking at him eagerly. "A good choice, young man. Very useful."

"What exactly do they do?" Harry forced himself to ask. It would have been so much easier to just punch the man's shiny face.

"They're to be used in duels. Any fight will do. All you have to do is place one card on your target's body and the other on yourself. Then you allow the other person to hit you. But surprise! The Cards have connected both of you. You're not hurt. Your opponent takes the hit. Of course, they're only good for one strike. And there are only twenty of them."

"So that makes ten injuries that you can send to your opponent," Harry said, nodding in understanding. "But I don't see why you'd want to go through all the trouble of placing it in your opponent's pocket when you could just knock them out with a spell of your own."

Borgin smiled a smile as oily as his words and face. "A tough customer? Well, you see, there are some people who would prefer to hurt someone without being caught themselves. Perhaps a friend who's betrayed them? All they have to do is give the card to that person and make sure they don't leave it. Then all that's left to do is for the owner of this deck to, say, stab himself. And there you have it, the other person commits suicide. But you don't have to stab yourself. There are other ways to break a man."

Harry stared unblinkingly at the deck. _The nerve of this guy._ They way he had talked about killing someone was as if he relished the very idea.

"So," the young wizard asked. "How much?"

"Twenty-five galleons. But for you, I'm willing to make it twenty," he said eagerly.

Harry looked into his eyes. "But I thought half-bloods paid fifty percent extra. Or does that only apply on rent?"

_So you remember._Shock and fear simultaneously erupted in the shop owner's eyes as he stumbled backwards a little, not daring to look away from Harry.

"What are you talking about?" he asked urgently.

"Just asking, Borgin," Harry whispered. "I don't think there's room for any concession. For all I know, you might kill me if I tried that."

He chuckled as if he had told a joke - a joke that Borgin did not seem to find funny in the least.

"I told you, didn't I? I have no idea what you're talking about," said Borgin, his mask of stability slowly but surely slipping away.

"Of course, you do. How could you forget something like this?"

"Listen, I don't know how you know about it, but why are you bringing it up now? Who are you? Don't force me to call the Department of Law Enforcement."

"By all means, call them. Then we'll all discuss how you killed Simon Frost because he had the nerve to oppose you when you overcharged his family, knowing full well that they were struggling."

"Y-you can't prove anything. If you're a half-blood, there's no way that the court will accept your testimony. Good luck even arranging a trial," he told Harry, smiling weakly as if indicating that he had won.

"I never said anything about taking you to court. As you said, there are other ways to kill a man, some more effective than others," Harry said softly, trying to direct his magical intent at the faltering man.

"What do you want?" he asked, trembling.

"Look at yourself, Borgin. You're shaking. Some pure-blood you are. I would prefer not to sully my hands. How about we make a deal?"

"A - a deal?" Borgin's face straightened. "Yes. A deal. Of course! What do you want? Money? These cards? I can give you anything."

"Good," Harry commented, walking around, not bothering to look at the shop owner while he talked. "I don't want anything of yours. It would, however, please me if you reimbursed the Frosts for the money you took from them due to your prejudice. Numbers aren't my strong point so I'll leave you to work out how much you owe them. All I would like you to do is subtract that amount from their rent on a monthly basis. Sounds simple, right? It would be the froth on the Butterbeer if you did the same for everyone else you've swindled."

"And what do I get from this deal?" Borgin asked.

"Isn't it obvious? You get to keep your life," Harry told him curtly. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a photo of Borgin with his arms around a woman and boy. Judging by Borgin's looks in the photo, Harry inferred that it was a fairly recent one. "And your wife and son keep their limbs."

Borgin's knees slackened as he collapsed onto a stool, staring at the ground. Harry turned his face away from the man and sighed in silent relief. _That went rather well._ He had threatened not only Borgin, but his wife and boy, too. If Borgin had any sense, he would accept Harry's terms. If he didn't, he would either be really stupid or observant enough to see through Harry's charade.

"F-fine," Borgin spoke at last. "But how do you know that I won't go back on this deal and report you?"

"Are you saying that you will?" Harry admonished. "I know you won't go back on it, Borgin. You don't want to die. And you don't want your wife to be hurt either. Let's face it, you'd be hard-pressed to find another woman who'd marry someone like you." When Borgin didn't reply, Harry said, "If that's all, I'll be leaving. I'd love to see what you have out there that's got everyone so excited."

With that, Harry went back to the front of the shop, past the drapes. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought that he would spend the day before Christmas threatening to murder and mutilate people. This was definitely turning into one of the more interesting holidays he had had.

Back in the main area, the crowd still hadn't thinned. In fact, it had probably grown larger. Over the crowd's noise, Harry could make out words like 'Scotland' and 'runes'. Now he was even more interested in finding out what it was that had everyone's attention. Once again, he began uttering apologies and 'Merry Christmas' as he pushed his way through the flock of people.

His mouth fell open.

A phoenix, its black eyes shimmering and its red and golden plumage gleaming in the light of the shop's lamps, was perched inside a slightly cramped cage, casting what Harry supposed were irritated glares at the crowd of people. Harry's eyes shifted to the bottom of the bird's prison. The circular base's sides were covered in alien patterns. _Runes._ _Runes to s__top the bird from escaping through fire._ A young man with a square jaw was busy telling the people the same thing.

Wondering how in the world these people had managed to capture the elusive bird, Harry managed to catch the bird's eyes. That was all it took. Harry didn't know what made him do it. Maybe it was something that he had seen in the black eyes. Perhaps it was just the kindred spirit that seemed to emanate from the phoenix. Whatever it was, he did it: before he could stop himself, he opened his mouth to speak.

"Let it out."

The excited crowd, which had been eagerly observing the bird, pointing and admiring its beauty, fell quiet.

"Excuse me?" asked the shop assistant as if he hadn't heard right.

"You have to let it out. You can't keep it trapped," he said gravely.

"Sir, you don't need to worry," the assistant, whose badge read Oliver, tried to calm him as whispers broke out. "The runes around the cage prevent the bird from escaping. Everything's under control."

"No, that's not it. You shouldn't keep it in there. It's just not meant to be."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. It's set to be auctioned in a few days. Besides, the runes prevent anyone from breaking it open. Now, sir, if you would please calm down. People are here to see the phoenix."

"What's going on?" a familiar voice came from behind the crowd.

The people parted to make way for Borgin to come to the source of the disturbance. As soon as he saw Harry, the irritation on his face disappeared, an expression somewhere between fear and bewilderment taking its place.

"Hello, Mr. Borgin!" Harry greeted the man like any ordinary customer.

"Oliver, what's wrong?" Borgin asked his assistant, ignoring Harry. Once Oliver finished whispering his explanation to Borgin, the proprietor turned to Harry and tried his best to speak as normally as possible, "Sir, I'm afraid what you're asking is entirely impossible. We can't just let something like this go."

"And why is that?"

"Merlin! It's a phoenix. They're rarer than Basilisk eggs. We barely trapped this one in Scotland!"

Something was off. Phoenixes didn't just fall into traps, but he didn't press the matter anymore. He had already attracted tons of attention from the visitors to the shop who were listening to the exchange with the utmost attention.

"And now you're going to auction it?" Harry asked.

"Who told you that?" Borgin asked, his eyes widening.

"Your man, Oliver."

"Oliver!" Borgin's eyes flashed at the assistant in anger.

_So he wasn't supposed to be telling anyone that._

"And when the buyer lets it out, then what? It just vanishes!"

"No one's going to let it out, sir. Now if you would please, please leave. People would like to see the bird before it's taken off display."

"Sensible people," Harry began. "Would like to see it out."

"Yeah! Let the birdie out!" a little boy piped up before his mother could shut his mouth.

"Impossible. Those runes are exceedingly difficult to overcome."

Harry had been unable to retort before the people standing in front of the door shuffled away, leaving the way clear. _Damn._ An exceedingly enrapturing woman with a strong jaw, dressed in an equally striking set of black robes to go with her hair, entered the shop, holding a small bag in her left hand.

"Cynric," she drawled when she caught sight of Borgin. "This is some crowd you have here! I was just passing by and I thought I'd drop by for a visit. What's going on here?"

"Lady Black!" Borgin exclaimed, looking too relieved for his own good, in Harry's opinion. Borgin pointed towards the aforementioned young man. _Don't you dare go back on our deal, Borgin._ "It's him! He's-"

"Mr. Peverell!" Her drawl immediately morphed into a relatively cheery voice. "What a surprise to find you _here._"

"Bellatrix!" Harry acknowledged her presence, gloating inwardly at Borgin's look of disbelief. _Take that, Cynric._ "I was just admiring the phoenix that Mr. Borgin plans on auctioning in a few days."

"Phoenix?!" she exclaimed, forgetting all dignity and rushing to where Harry was standing.

As expected, her jaw dropped when she caught sight of the caged bird. For a moment, her eyes examined the phoenix. Harry was sure that he saw a faint smile on her face before she turned to Borgin, stone-faced. The proprietor was sweating like it was going out of style.

"Borgin?" the witch asked smoothly, using the man's last name.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Are you aware of the fact that phoenixes are XXXX creatures? Don't lie to me."

The man nodded quickly.

"And you are also aware of the fact that the trading of XXXX creatures is illegal?"

Another nod.

"Then why is it that you are planning on auctioning a phoenix?"

No reply this time.

Bellatrix sighed. "This is the second time, Cynric, after you tried selling Runespoor Eggs. Do I need to tell you what happens if you're caught a third time?"

"N-no, my lady."

"Good. You wouldn't like it in Azkaban. But I _will_ have to deal with whoever's in charge of keeping an eye out for illegal trade. It would seem that someone hasn't been doing their duty well."

Harry, who had patiently watched the scene, was bursting with glee. Meeting up with Bellatrix Black had been worth it because he got to see Borgin cowering in fear in front of a whole crowd. _I love Christmas._

"As a trusted member of Lord Slytherin's council," Bellatrix declared in an official tone. "I am confiscating the phoenix on grounds of illegal trade activity."

Harry glanced over at the bird. Once again, he had the familiar feeling of the need of act course through his veins.

"Shouldn't we just release it?" Harry asked.

"Don't be silly, Mr. Peverell," she said, tapping the cage with her wand. When nothing happened, she looked at her wand, puzzled, before directing her eyes to the base of the cage.

"Y-you can't just send it somewhere on its own..." mumbled Borgin. "Someone has to take it along with them."

"Thank you, Cynric, but I, too, have studied Runes."

Harry watched the witch wave her wand and conjure a black cloth that fell upon the cage, concealing the phoenix from view. As soon as the cloth draped around the cage, the peculiar adrenaline rush that Harry had been experiencing disappeared without leaving the slightest trace. It was as if it had never happened, as if he hadn't had the ridiculous urge to do something. _That was definitely not normal._ What in the world was going on?

Making the cage follow her, the witch turned to leave the shop, but not before she had made the smallest possible gesture for Harry to follow her._ What is it now?_ But he didn't debate over it. Once Bellatrix was out, the attention of the crowd became focused upon Harry, who suddenly felt out of place. A shroud of silence lay over the shop until it was lifted by a girl.

"Papa, the bird's free!" she exclaimed victoriously.

_Not yet._ Harry addressed the sunken proprietor of the shop, "Okay, then, Cynric. I'll be leaving, too. Perhaps we'll meet again if the_ circumstances_ demand it."

With that, Harry exited Borgin and Burkes, leaving behind a depressed owner, elated children, terrified assistants and a stupefied crowd. Just another day in the life of Harry Peverell. Bellatrix, her skin as white as the snow around her, was standing on one side of the street at a little distance from the shop, her gaze firmly on Harry. There went his daredevil escape plan which involved him running away before she realised he wasn't following her.

Confused, Harry stumbled through the thick snow to meet up with the witch who had the hidden cage floating beside her.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. P- May I call you Harry?" she abruptly asked, starting to walk again. "Mr. Peverell sounds too formal."

"Okay... Merry Christmas," Harry agreed, walking beside her.

"As I said before, I was surprised by you being in Borgin and Burkes," she resumed her silky tone.

"It clashes with my tastes?"

"That's one way of putting it. So I presume you're in Diagon Alley for some last minute shopping like the rest of us?"

"No, nothing like that," Harry admitted. "I'm staying here for the holidays."

"The Leaky Cauldron?"

"No. The Inn."

"The Inn?" Bellatrix questioned, taken aback.

"The Leaky Cauldron was full."

"Have you got your trunk, Harry?" she asked.

"What?" Harry was confused.

"I asked whether you have your trunk with you."

"Yeah, I've got it on me, though I don't see why that's important."

"Let's not be ridiculous. You can't just come stay with someone if you don't have your trunk, can you?"

Harry almost leaped away in surprise. "But I'm staying here in Diagon Alley. What are you saying?!"

It was as if Bellatrix had not even noticed Harry's shock. "You can't expect to spend Christmas alone now, can you?"

"I've managed just fine, to be honest." Harry had a very bad feeling that he knew where this conversation was going. Suddenly, his 'daredevil escape plan' didn't seem so ludicrous.

"Now, now. It's just for a day," she whispered, moving a little closer. "There are people who have wanted to meet you. What better way to surprise them?"

"I'd rather not impose." Harry stepped away.

"You're not imposing if I'm the one inviting you," she said, reminding Harry of what Castor had said. Perhaps he ought to have gone with him.

When Harry didn't say anything, she seemed to take it as a sign that he had given in because she smiled and placed her hands on Harry's arm and the cage that was following her.

"This might hurt a bit."

Harry, who had been hesitant in pulling away due to the possibility of being splinched, was being squeezed from all sides as darkness surrounded him. Then he felt something slam into him, causing him to fall on his bottom and palms ungracefully. The moment his hands had touched the ground, they became icy cold, which meant that they had finally reached someplace.

He opened his eyes to find his 'kidnapper' standing beside him with an amused look on her face as she looked down at him. Not wanting to give her the pleasure of getting enjoyment out of his little problem with Apparition, Harry jumped to his feet and patted the snow off his jeans.

"I should have warned you about the wards," she said in a matter-of-fact way. "They have a nasty habit of standing in the way of anyone who tries to Apparate into the grounds surrounding the house."

This house she was talking about wasn't visible to Harry at the moment, at least not properly. He could see a blurred outline of something massive in the distance but he couldn't make out any of its features. Bellatrix pulled him through the invisible barrier. As he passed through it, Harry felt he had been doused with cold water - the same feeling he got when a ghost passed through him.

Now Harry could see it. A house. A huge house, to be more accurate. It was Malfoy Manor's older brother, bigger and better. The palatial mansion of gray stone stood at the end of a driveway bordered by a snow-blanketed hedge on both sides which was tall enough to prevent Harry from seeing over it. Just as Harry had expected, a large iron gate came into view when he followed Bellatrix closer to the building.

The witch stroked the gate and it swung wide open without a single creak. Although he was impressed, Harry was more concerned about who else lived in the colossal manor. Surely, Bellatrix wasn't the only one who dwelt here.

Past the gate, the surrounding changed. The hedge that had obstructed Harry's view did not grow here. Instead, the drive now had wide lawns on either side. In places where the snow was thin, Harry could make out well-mowed, green grass, kept alive by what could only be magic. _Aunt Petunia's lawn's got nothing on this one_, Harry thought, wondering how many people were employed to care for it. In the shadow of the house, the driveway split into a circle with a fountain in the center. At the moment, though, the fountain's pool was filled with snow, not water.

At last, they came to a stop in front of the few stone steps that stood the foot of the ornately carved, wooden front doors. Harry, who had finished surveying the grounds as well as he could in such a short period of time, looked at Bellatrix expectantly.

"Welcome," she announced grandly, one hand on the covered cage. "To Granger Hall."

Time, for Harry, came to a standstill. Someone had pulled the figurative rug from under his feet, sending him crashing down into an endless abyss. _Let this be a joke, let this be a joke._ Of all the places in the world, he had been brought to the residence of the Granger family by none other than Bellatrix Black. If only his friends from the other world could hear it. He could have won a prize for 'Most Unbelievable Story. Ever.'

"Oh..." Harry mumbled to himself in a voice so low that even he barely heard it.

Without bothering to elaborate, Bellatrix ascended the stairs. The moment she stepped onto the last step, the doors swung inwards, revealing a lavishly decorated foyer, dominated by brown and golden colours. Holding his breath, Harry followed the witch inside. A red carpet ran through the middle for the foyer, leading up to a large staircase. On either side of the staircase were two small hallways that ended at dark brown doors. Letting his eyes flicker towards the roof, Harry caught sight of a heavy chandelier hanging above him. Instantly reminded of Dobby's dropping of the chandelier at Malfoy Manor, Harry stepped aside. _Just in case._

_Crack!_

A house-elf appeared out of thin air. No matter how wealthy someone was, their elf always looked as if it had just come back after playing in the mud. This one was no different.

"Mistress!" it squeaked, bowing so low that its pointed nose touched the gleaming floor. "Happy is not expecting Mistress so soon."

Not looking at the elf, 'Mistress' inquired with an air of superiority, "Happy, is Eleanor occupied?"

"No, Mistress! Other Mistress is in the drawing room."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"Fetch the younger Mistress at once. And take this to the guest-room until further. Do not uncover it under any circumstances."

Bellatrix pointed at the shrouded cage. The elf nodded before disappearing with another crack when Bellatrix dismissed it with a snap of her fingers, taking the phoenix with it. Harry, who was on the verge of fainting, followed her through the door at the end of the hallway on the right, growing more anxious with each step. _The younger Mistress... _He didn't need to guess who that was.

Leaving Harry alone, Bellatrix went into the room. Harry could hear two voices talking - one was Bellatrix's, the other being unfamiliar. He heard them talking about some sort of surprise. The door then opened once again and Bellatrix motioned him inside.

"Harry Peverell, Ella!" the witch declared, pointing at him as if he was something she was lucky to see. The way she said it reminded Harry eerily of the Bellatrix he knew. There was definitely a trace of that woman in this counterpart of hers. "Harry, this is Eleanor Granger, mother to you know who."

Eleanor Granger, with her wavy, brown hair and haughty looks, was an older version of her daughter. Dressed in splendid silver robes, she was looking at Harry with what Harry supposed was the aristocracy's equivalent of an open mouth. He was impressed by her reaction, to be honest. He had thought she would have started complaining about a half-blood soiling her house with its muddy blood. _The perks of being Harry Peverell, the nephew of Albus Dumbledore._

"Mr. Peverell, a pleasure," she acknowledged. "I hope Bella didn't cause much trouble. She has a tendency to do that."

He answered, "Pleased to meet you." _Not._

"I don't cause trouble, Ella, and you know it. Just ask Harry. I never forced him into anything."

_Yes, you did._

"I severely doubt that," the other woman told Bellatrix. "Take a seat, Mr. Peverell. A guest at our humble abode must never have anything to complain about."

_Humble abode. Good one, _Harry mused. The house was anything but humble. The drawing room itself was larger than most rooms Harry had seen. An intricate carpet covered the floor almost completely, revealing a small part of the brown underneath at the edges. A toasty fire roared in a large fireplace beneath a handsome mantlepiece, above which hung a large portrait of the house itself. A few armchairs formed a semicircle around the fireplace.

Three large, fawn, camelback sofas were set around a large table, one sofa in front of each of its sides. The fourth side faced two angled bedroom chairs. Harry had to admit that he was surprised. He had been imagining entering a gloomy dungeon dominated by blacks and silvers. But then again, these people weren't vampires. Bellatrix could be one, though, with her snow white skin. Discussing people's species wasn't the issue at hand, though. In the center of the room, between the sofas and armchairs in front of the fire, stood a large Christmas tree, decorated conservatively.

Harry took a seat on one of the sofas. The comfort of the seat did little to relieve Harry, who had entered this moment into his list of most awkward moments ever - an intangible list which existed only in the deepest recesses of his mind.

"What would you like, Mr. Peverell?" asked Eleanor.

"Oh, it's alright. I'm fine."

"Nonsense! Don't be shy. Blishen's Firewhiskey, perhaps?"

"No, really. I don't drink."

Bellatrix looked scandalised while Eleanor shrugged with sigh.

"It's good to finally meet you, Mr. Peverell," she told Harry what he had already been told by innumerable people. "I've heard a lot about you. My husband and I were unable to attend the dueling competition due to important work. Congratulations on defeating my daughter. Not a feat many can boast of."

Harry couldn't very well say 'it was nothing' (which also happened to be a lie), so he chose the easy way out, "Thanks. She did almost have me, though. Toughest opponent I've faced." _After Voldemort and a few of his minions._

"She did take the loss much better than I expected," remarked Eleanor.

"We thought she might try to drown herself in Firewhiskey. Can't stand being beaten, that girl," the other witch agreed.

"Where's Mr. Granger?" Harry asked. He'd prefer meeting everyone at once rather than going through this again.

"He's out of the country on business," Bellatrix told him. "Which is why I'm staying here with Ella."

_Just what I need. Staying in a house with the Grangers and Bellatrix Black. All we need now is Voldemort. _The door to the room opened. For a moment, Harry feared his thoughts had manifested themselves and Voldemort was going to pop in. Instead, in stepped Hermione Granger in a long black coat over her robes, her arm around a certain book that Harry, too, had in his trunk. She didn't notice Harry, who had his back to her.

"Bellatrix, Happy told me you were looking for me," the 'younger Mistress' said. "Oh, is there a guest?"

"Hermione!" called Bellatrix, motioning towards her to call her closer. "We have a surprise for you."

Taking it to be his cue, Harry reluctantly stood up to face his housemate, who recoiled in shock. By now, Harry had lost count of how many jaws he had forced to drop that day. A look of disbelief marred Hermione's face. She was looking at him as if he was her worst nightmare come to life.

"Y-you! What are you doing here?" she pointed at him before turning to Bellatrix. "Bella, what kind of trick are you playing now? What's he doing here?"

"You can't have expected me to leave Harry here to sleep in some little inn in Diagon Alley, could you?" Bellatrix asked, showing now signs of having noticed Hermione's less than pleased reaction at having Harry pop up in her house.

Hermione looked like she would faint any second when she heard Bellatrix call Harry by his first name. The world, to her, was going crazy.

"You know," Harry began, attempting to make the best of this moment. "I think Hermione's right. What am I doing here? I really should be leaving soon. So many things to do, so little time."

"Nonsense, Mr. Peverell!" Eleanor stood up, slightly alarmed. "Hermione, is that any way to treat a guest?"

"But you heard him, Mother! He wants to leave. Bellatrix probably kidnapped him."

"Why does everyone think I did that?" a frowning Bellatrix asked.

_Because that's what you did. Sort of._

Hermione began, "But he's-"

"Your housemate, dear," cut in her mother.

Harry saw her flash a warning look at her daughter. _What's going on?_ He was lost. Hermione had obviously meant to call him an half-blood unworthy of entering Granger Hall. While he understood that her mother might have a somewhat lax stance on the issue of bloody purity, he didn't know what to make of the message Eleanor had sent her daughter through her face. It was as if she was warning her daughter to keep herself under check. Did she think that Harry would be offended and might leave? Why were they intent on keeping him there?

_Come to think of it, she was rather quick to tell me that I ought not to leave._ Something was off. A gut feeling told him to get out of there as quick as possible but he found himself unable to act on it. Something was holding him back, telling him not to leave, as if his work there was not yet complete. The first question was: What was it that he was supposed to do? The second was: What did these people want with him? Surely, they didn't invite every random person on the street into their palatial houses just to have tea with them! Even if they did know this random person, it probably wasn't everyday that he was invited to actually stay with them.

He wasn't going to be let off easily. Asking to leave politely was out of the question. Bellatrix Black was stubborn; she'd do anything to keep him there. The wards around the mansion meant that he couldn't just Apparate out of there. Making a Portkey wasn't an option either since he didn't know how to set its location. Whichever route of escape he thought of led to a dead end. The only possible way of leaving would be to run and go past the wards before Apparating. But that was not a very feasible plan. A fight might break out before he was able to escape. Dueling Hermione Granger, Bellatrix Black and possibly Eleanor would not be easy, considering he was in their habitat. If house-elves joined the fray, things would only get dirtier.

And so, he decided to act as if there was tempest of suspicion stirring within him. There was always the possibility that these people were even more different than how he had imagined them to be. Perhaps what he had faced in Slytherin was just the result of the teenage tendency to form cliques and then stick to them. The adults might genuinely be different. But then again, Everard Rookwood's father hadn't been the most friendly person when he had confronted Regulus Black and his son.

So that was his dilemma. Was he to escape and risk getting killed or, worse, captured? At the same time, he didn't want to escape. It was as if he was meant to be here. While that should have solved his problem by telling him that he ought not escape, it only made him exasperated. Resisting the urge to pull his hair, Harry stayed down, the perfect picture of an innocuous, unsuspecting young man.

"Oh, Ella," Bellatrix spoke up. "I've got something in my room that you must see. It would make a perfect gift for tonight's dinner."

Harry's eyes threatened to pop out as he realised what gift she was talking about.

"I'll be the judge of that," said Eleanor. "Hermione, would you show Mr. Peverell to his room?"

"His room?!" exclaimed Hermione in disbelief.

"My room?" Harry asked simultaneously.

"You know perfectly well what I just said," the mother told her daughter. "The one near the library will do."

Hermione appeared to have an internal debate over the matter before she finally said in a cold voice, "Follow me."

Not liking the situation one bit, Harry followed his housemate out of the room and up the large staircase. With neither of the two saying anything, the only sounds were those of their muffled footsteps on the carpet. The stairs ended in a hall, the walls of which were lined with portraits of sleeping men and women. Harry hadn't had the time to read the silver plaques beneath each painting, but he surmised that these were previous generations of the Granger family.

The witch led him into one of the two hallways that left the hall. They passed two rooms before coming to a stop in front of the third. Hermione turned to give him a dark look.

"I don't now what you're doing here, Peverell," she whispered even though there was no one around to hide her words from. "But I don't plan on ruining my holidays because of you. You stay out of my way and we'll be fine."

"Shouldn't it be 'you stay out of my way, I'll stay out of yours'?" Harry asked.

"As you can see, this is my house. I'm not going to watch my step around here just because of you," she muttered, opening the door.

Like everything else in Granger Hall, this room was sumptuously decorated a green carpet to go along with the emerald curtains that adorned the opposite wall. Even the bed's thick mattress was covered in some sort of silky, green cloth. The polished furniture, including the spacious wardrobes, bed and chairs appeared to sparkle as they reflected the light of the golden lamps.

Harry, who had been inspecting the furniture closely as if checking for defects, looked back at Hermione, who was still standing in the doorway, smirking at him.

"Impressed, are we?"

"Truth be told, there's too much green here. Could I get some place less...extravagant?"

"You could, but you won't."

"A pity."

"I'll leave you to it, then. The room's keys are in the wardrobe. Don't ruin anything."

With that, Hermione swiftly left, closing the door and leaving Harry alone with only his thoughts to keep him company. Harry dropped onto the soft bed, letting himself sink in as he stared blankly at the ceiling, his mind threatening to run off in every direction at once. There were so many questions but no answers. How could he leave? Why didn't he want to leave? What were Bellatrix and Eleanor going to do with the phoenix? They weren't actually going to give it away, were they? When he had wished that he had someone to spend Christmas with, this was definitely not what he had thought of.

* * *

_That's it for now. I understand if you're very confused right now, but the reason for everything that's happening will be revealed later. You know the drill.  
_


	21. He's Lying

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

_Everyone who's favourited the story or added it to their alerts, you rule! And everyone who's reviewed, you're the best!_

* * *

Afternoon was upon the twenty-fourth of December and it found a befuddled Harry itching to leave the room he had been left in by Hermione Granger - the last person whom he had expected to stay with. Or the second last: Voldemort was definitely the one on the bottom. But Harry did not care about such intangible lists that existed only in the deepest recesses of his minds as he opened the door to his room and peered outside. As expected, the corridor was empty.

Now Harry was many things - a Potter, a Peverell, the current wielder of the Elder Wand (or at least one of the two current possessors of the Deathstick), the Boy Who Lived. The list was endless. The one thing that he was not, though, was a suicidal idiot with only half a brain and no sense of caution. He wasn't planning to escape, especially after seeing the two House Elves working on vanishing the snow outside the house. If they saw him even moving towards the gates, there was little doubt in Harry's mind that they would alert someone about it.

And so after much contemplation, he had decided to make the best out of the situation (something which proved very hard to do) and salvage the opportunity to simply wander around the house he had been invited into with seemingly open arms. Through the dim hallway he went, the only light being provided by lamps hung at equal distances from each other, making sure not to make a sound until he came to the hall he had previously seen at the top of the staircase.

Surrounded by snoring portraits, Harry moved around the place, his eyes flitting from plaque to plaque. Remembering what Dumbledore had said about pure-bloods being pure-bloods as long as they were unable to trace any Muggle ancestors, Harry surmised that these were paintings of only the recent generations. After all, the oldest person in all these was the magnificently bearded Alastair Granger who had lived in the seventeenth century and it was hard to imagine the Grangers not having a family tree that went further back than that.

Eventually he came to two empty frames, the residents of which could be anywhere in the colossal mansion. Beneath them he read two names: "_Mathias T. Granger (1951- )" _and _"Eleanor M. Granger (1953- )"_. He felt a little disappointed that he missed out on seeing what Mathias looked like but he did not have much time to dwell on it any longer as a low voice spoke up behind him.

"They've probably gone somewhere private. Can't seem to stay in their frames, the two of them."

He wheeled around and found himself staring at Bellatrix Black, who instantly put a finger over his mouth as she shook her head and motioned towards the resting paintings around them.

"You don't want to wake them up and listen to them reminisce," she whispered. Harry hastily nodded. She continued, "Out for a tour?"

"Just taking a look around," Harry told her casually. "Really fancy place."

"Looking for anything in particular?"

Harry shrugged, "Not really. Oh, wait. I heard there was a library around here. That's always an impressive addition to a house."

"The library?" she asked in slight disbelief.

"The library."

"Why you don't get along with Hermione, I'll never know. Asking to see a library..." she mumbled, motioning him to follow her.

_So now she's my tour guide here,_ Harry thought, _great..._

Once again, Harry found himself going down the same hallway in which his room's entrance stood. This time, though, he found himself being taken further back until they came to a set of a large, mahogany doors. Bellatrix gave the doors a magic-infused push and they flew open. The smell of paper hit Harry as he stepped inside.

It wasn't the library of Hogwarts, of course, but it sure was something. In the center of the carpeted room was a large table with several chairs placed ordered around it. At its back, directly opposite Harry, was a large window that looked outside. On the left and right of the table were rows of bookshelves - four on either side, by Harry's count. The walls were lined with wood and the yellow light of the chandeliers made the room look rather inviting.

"And here it is," Bellatrix declared by the time Harry had already begun surveying the books. "The library. Or Mathias' cave, as Ella prefers to call it, so don't be surprised if most of what you find is government records. You might not find much that would interest you."

"Hmm?" Harry asked, heaving '_The Daily Prophet (A 1996 Compilation)' _back into its spot and moving on. "What would interest me, Bellatrix?"

"You know," the witch said, leaning over the back of a chair, watching him. "The other side of magic."

"But I expressly remember telling you," he began as he pulled out _Curses_ from the shelf. "That I'm not exactly the most biased person when it comes to Light and Dark magic. Heck, there's no such thing as Light or Dark magic." He pulled out a chair and took his seat, dropping the book on the table.

"Yes, yes," she sighed. "It all depends on the caster's intention. But you can't deny the fact that you favour the so-called Light spells."

"True," Harry accepted. "But that's only because higher level Dark magic doesn't exactly look like the most pleasant thing to me. Honestly, it makes my insides churn. Look at this." He showed her an artist's rendering of a disemboweled man in the book. "Now why in the world would you do that?"

The witch pulled up a chair for herself next to him as she examined the picture almost lovingly before smiling. "True. There are better ways to kill a man. Cleaner ways."

Harry frowned. "Er, that wasn't my point, but alright..."

There was silence for a while before Bellatrix broke it with an unexpected question. "What do you think of us, Harry?"

Harry, who had been absorbed in the description of a curse which caused skin decay, asked bemusedly, "Us?"

"You know. Pure-bloods. The government. That sort."

"If I told you that," Harry grinned. "You might kill me."

"Dissenters aren't killed, Harry. And they aren't punished either unless they do something to oppose the law. There isn't really a spell that can force a whole nation to accept an idea. There is obviously a minority which does not share our views. You've seen that yourself at Hogwarts."

"And does my opinion matter?"

"Just asking for my own satisfaction. It would be interesting to hear the views of someone who hasn't given himself over to a specific side."

"In that case," Harry said. "I think you people need to be more accepting of those of us who aren't pure-bloods."

"And why is that?" Bellatrix asked, intrigued.

"Why isn't it that? It's not a person's fault if they're born into a family of muggles, is it? Any pure-blood could just as well have been a muggle-born, but they turned out be 'lucky'. That's like thinking someone's a lesser person just because they didn't win the lottery."

"Harry, before today's laws came into effect, our world was teeming with muggle-borns who were intent on incorporating elements of their other life into the magical world. Slowly, but surely, there would have come a time when we would have been living in a world where you found muggle technology and magic mixing together."

"I don't see what's wrong with that," Harry told her.

Bellatrix elucidated, "Look. I'm sure you're aware that muggle electronics, as they're known, don't work in places with high concentrations of magic. In a way, the converse is also true. Wizards and witches, we can perform magic in the muggle world as well, but it never seems to work at the same level. You may not have noticed it, but it's true. In a magically-drenched environment, a witch is at her strongest. The Department of Mysteries is still working on finding a proper explanation for this, but it does happen.

"Now if we were to completely embrace the muggle aspect of life, the magic of even the most populated magical areas would be diluted. In the end, we would have a world which is neither muggle, nor truly magical. Add to that the fact that a purer bloodline means stronger magic, you have our reasons for keeping the magical world to ourselves."

"But," Harry argued. "There are half-bloods who're much more talented than any pure-blood wizard. Look at Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. Heck, I'm pretty sure I heard Ollivander's a half-blood!" _And then there's Voldemort, of course._

"And then there's you," Bellatrix said with a glint in her eye. "You, Harry, with so much talent. All it needs is someone who appreciates it for it to grow. All those you mentioned, they are exceptions to the rule. You have a large group, you're bound to find a few exceptional people in it. Usually, though, it is the purity of blood which determines a wizard's power. And you, Harry, can surpass them all. And we can teach you how to get there - how to be someone. Why don't you just accept this calling?"

By now, the witch had leaned forwards a little too much and her face was very close to Harry's, her eyes wide as they looked up at him. Trying not to be suffocated by the scent of her perfume, Harry opened his mouth to answer but before he could let a word out, one of the doors of the library opened and in came Hermione Granger with several books in her arms, whose face immediately displayed a scowl as she saw Harry. _Saved!_

Harry didn't fail to notice Bellatrix close her eyes in frustration for a second before she turned to Hermione and said, "Hermione! Homework?"

"That was the plan," Hermione drawled. "But I think I'll come back later."

Harry jumped up and shoved _Curses _back into its slot in the bookshelf. "Oh, no. Don't let me be a bother. I just remembered I have to do mine, too. I'll be in my room then."

This was, of course, a lie. He had already run through parchments yesterday because he wanted to be free of any burdens or worries for the rest of the holidays. _Ah, the irony of life. _Hurrying past a bemused Hermione, Harry fled the library for the safety and comfort of his room. Perhaps he could get in there later. Right now, though, it was definitely not safe territory. He'd go on another excursion around the house later.

* * *

Night had begun to fall upon Granger Hall when Harry returned to his room again and shed his Cloak of Invisibility before stuffing it into his trunk. He had spent the last half hour wandering around the house under the safety of his cloak, determined to get to know the place he was in. Unfortunately for him, his plan hadn't exactly been successful.

What had started as an attempt to find Bellatrix's room - where he knew the phoenix was being kept - had rapidly devolved into a game of 'Avoid the House Elves'. Wherever he went, he found a random house elf roaming about, cleaning the place. He had almost been discovered when he had jumped aside to dodge a particularly hasty elf and had hit the wall. His little groan of pain had not gone unnoticed but the elf had quickly decided that it had just been hearing things.

And so, he was back in here, thinking about how to proceed as he stared out the window. The lamps that dotted the path outside had come alive. But it was not this light that piqued Harry's interest. It was what he could see in the light that interested him. Hastily, he drew the two curtains and used his hands to create a small opening between them, and it was from there that he saw what was happening.

Eleanor and Bellatrix were walking up to the gates with a fervent urgency in their step. With a snap of her fingers, Eleanor dismissed the two elves that had been standing by the gates, which flew open to allow the two witches through. Where they were going, Harry couldn't see since there were no lights by the driveway beyond the gates.

A minute or two later, he saw silhouettes approaching - not two, but four. Harry waited with bated breath as they drew closer and closer. He let out a string of curses under his breath. The two witches were being led back to the house by two wizards. Two very familiar and, for Harry, very unwelcome wizards. Voldemort, Tom Riddle, the Minister, Lord Slytherin, whatever they were calling him these days, was hurrying up to the mansion, his black robes billowing behind him. Walking beside him was a very bored-looking Gellert Grindelwald, dressed in a similar manner.

Suddenly, making a run for the front gate appeared to be a very inviting prospect.

* * *

"What did you say?" Harry inquired dramatically, looking down at the elf standing in his doorway.

"Mistress is wishing to see you," the elf repeated, staring at Harry with its great bulbous eyes.

_Yeah, I was afraid you'd said that._

An hour or so had passed since he had witnessed Voldemort and Grindelwald arrive at Granger Hall. Since then, he had not set foot out of his room and had stayed away from the window, too - just to be sure. And just now, this house elf had knocked at his door and told him that his presence was required in the dining room.

"Well, I'll be there in a while," said Harry.

"No," the elf piped up. "You is coming right now with Pokey."

"Oh, come on! Be a good elf and wait."

"Pokey is being a good elf! If Pokey is not bringing Peverell boy to Mistress, Pokey is being punished."

With that, the house elf lunged for Harry's hand and began dragging him with himself. At least, he tried to drag him. It was, in Harry's opinion, a really pathetic attempt and he knew that if he had been watching the elf pulling someone else's arm in vain and trying to walk, he would have laughed.

"Alright, alright," Harry sighed. "Lead the way."

And the elf did lead the way, taking Harry back downstairs. On the way, Harry tried his luck and asked the elf whether he knew where Bellatrix's room was. Unfortunately for him, he didn't receive an answer since the elf barely paid him any attention. Past a door, Harry found himself being lead into another corridor until coming to a halt before two grand doors quite similar to the ones that guarded the library's entrance.

The elf snapped his fingers and the door opened. Harry found himself stepping into a large room with wood flooring. But he had little time to pay attention to the portraits that lined the walls or the chandelier that hung directly over the long dining table or the smell of food that wafted through the room.

Harry's eyes instantly connected with the Dark Lord's. And just like the last time the pair had met, Harry found himself unable to look away. This time, though, it wasn't because he was being held prisoner by Voldemort's piercing gaze - Harry just didn't feel like looking away. The moment he had found himself staring at Tom Riddle's eyes, it was if some sort of contest had been initiated. The first one to look away would lose.

"Pokey, you are dismissed."

Eleanor's voice broke through the silence that had enveloped Harry. It appeared to have had the same effect on Voldemort, who broke eye contact at the same moment as Harry. Back to his senses, Harry surveyed the room before him. The same people he had expected - Voldemort, Eleanor, Bellatrix, Grindelwald and Hermione - sat at the opposite end of the table from where he stood, Voldemort at the head, Bellatrix and Grindelwald on one side and Eleanor and her daughter on the other, the two older witches sitting closer to Voldemort's end.

"We meet again, Mr. Peverell," Voldemort said in his usual silky voice - a voice that still caught him by surprise since he was so used to the high-pitched tone the other Voldemort used.

"I would have preferred if it was in, er, different circumstances," Harry admitted, referring to the seriousness that hung in the air. Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry caught sight of Grindelwald looking curiously at him as if trying to decipher a code. Hermione seemed to have become interested in her fingernails and Eleanor and Bellatrix...he had no idea what they were doing as they stared at each other.

"And so do I," Voldemort stated blandly. "A seat?"

Harry had begun to pull out the nearest chair when Bellatrix stood up suddenly from Grindelwald's left.

"Sit here, Harry," she told him, moving to the seat on Grindelwald's right. "I'll just sit on Gellert's right," she added, running a hand across the older wizard's back in a not-so-subtle way. A flicker of annoyance crossed the aide's face.

Unable to refuse, Harry had to take the seat that Bellatrix had just vacated. He found himself sitting at Voldemort's right and across Eleanor, whose expression Harry was still unable to decipher.

"How long has it been?" Voldemort asked as casually as someone inquiring about the weather.

"Over a month," Harry replied just as normally. "About to be two, I think."

"Do you know why I'm here, Mr. Peverell?"

"The smell of food in the air tells me you were here to have dinner."

Harry noticed Eleanor's mouth open ever so slightly in surprise at his nonchalant tone with the Minister and their 'Lord Slytherin'. Voldemort, on the other hand, looked merely amused. Looking at the faint smile on his face, Harry wasn't sure whether he preferred this Voldemort to the one who would have killed him for 'not showing respect'. The smile made him look more sinister.

"You're right about that. Every year at Christmas time, every prominent pure-blood family holds a feast. This time, though, Mathias isn't around so there's nothing big here. Just me and Grindelwald over for a chat with the ladies."

"That's...nice..." Harry mumbled, unsure of what to say.

"But that isn't the only reason that I'm here today."

Harry frowned. "And that would be?"

"Why are you here, Mr. Peverell?"

_I was kidnapped. _"I was invited by Bellatrix."

"No doubt forcefully," Voldemort deadpanned, earning a suppressed snort from Grindelwald, who was trying to parry the aforementioned witch's subtle advances.

"Beggars can't be choosers," said Harry. "I needed a place to stay and voila."

"And do you like it?"

"I'm not exactly sure. I guess I do."

"According to Bellatrix, you don't share that opinion when it comes to pure-bloods."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "Excuse me?"

"Bella was just telling me how you told her that you don't quite agree with how non-pure-bloods are treated by pure-bloods."

"Well, yeah, I don't."

"And she also tells me that you have a rather, how do I put it, gray opinion when it comes to the different sides of magic, that you don't make distinctions between Dark and Light magic on the mere basis of how others classify them."

"That's right," Harry said with a nod of his head. "Magic is only as dark as the person who uses it."

"And as I remember from the last time we met, you displayed remarkable ability for someone so young. The fire in the end - can't say I had been expecting that. You remind me of myself, Mr. Peverell." _I'll never be like you, _Harry thought bitterly as Voldemort continued, "Someone who sees magic for what it is. A mere tool which can be used in any way a wizard wishes. And yet, you waste yourself under the tutelage of Dumbledore-"

"Yeah, about that, I've already told Hermione and Bellatrix both that I'm not interested in joining you."

"Why would that be?"

"Don't feel like it." Harry shrugged.

"In that case," Voldemort sighed. "I will tell you the second reason I'm here tonight."

"It's because me, isn't it?"

"Well, yes. A few days ago, something came to my attention. I was hoping to meet up with you to discuss it, but it was highly unlikely that we would meet by chance, of course. Incidentally, Bellatrix was also privy to this bit of information and luck seemed to shine upon her today as she found none than you in Diagon Alley. What followed was a letter to me and now here we are." He finished with an elaborate gesture.

Fearing the worst, Harry felt his grip tighten on the pocket where he kept his wand. "And what was this something?" he asked, trying not to betray any hints of his unease.

"September 1. The day the new term began at Hogwarts. Since then, I've been informed of something rather peculiar - a half-blood in Slytherin. And not just any half-blood, but Dumbledore's relation. Now that certainly intrigued me. Not the part about the half-blood in Slytherin, but the part about our senile friend having any living relations. So I took it upon myself to investigate. Day after day, my curiosity in you grew, Mr. Peverell. A Slytherin half-blood who could perform a Patronus Charm and overthrow the Imperius Curse! Now that is something. I'll admit, I'm impressed. You certainly had the ability to be a young Dumbledore.

"And then, I finally saw you in the dueling competition. Our meeting was brief, but it was enough to prove to me that you were someone to look out for. A half-blood with power worth more than any pure-blood's. But no matter how hard, I tried, there was no way of finding out your origin. You just seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Finally, though, I found mention of the Peverells in an book of old families. A book of families _ex__tinct_ in the male line. But then, how could you be here?"

Harry's heart was threatening to burst through his chest as Voldemort continued, "As you know, the United States' wizarding government refuses to cooperate with us in any way, shape or form. The key to your past lay in America. But you don't think that I wouldn't have thought about doing something about the US, do you? Canada has always remained neutral when it comes to our issue. Their wizarding community is still small and they don't want to risk offending either the British or the American Ministries by choosing a side.

"It took me a painful month, but I finally had a spy from Canada infiltrate the Ministry in the US. There was always the threat of him being caught, but he managed. I'll have to reward him for that. I won't deny that at times, I felt like he wouldn't have been able to pull it off. But I digress. To make a long story short, there is no mention of a Peverell family ever having dwelt in the United States, or a Dumbledore family, for that matter. And where does that put you, Mr. Peverell?" Voldemort finished with emphasis on Harry's adopted last name.

By now, Harry was feeling rather suffocated by the silence in the room. Everyone's eyes were focused on him, waiting for his reply. But what reply did he have? Was he supposed to just admit that his whole past was made up and he actually came from another dimension? No, that would be stupid. Saying that he had just adopted the name in honour of the Peverell family who were his ancestors might work, but it was a long shot. As far as he could see, there was no answer that was going to get him out of this hole.

But Voldemort chose to broke the silence himself, "Even though it appears that you have lived a lie ever since you began attending Hogwarts, Mr Pe- Harry, I don't feel like disposing of you." When Harry raised an eyebrow in question, he continued, "Even if you're not Dumbledore's nephew, grandnephew, son or whatever, you are talented. What will it take to convince you to join us?"

"Am I really that, uhm, important that everyone feels the need to ask me this question?" Harry asked.

"They're just looking to help you."

_Yeah, right. Like I'd believe that._ "Well, then. You can't convince me. Simple as that."

"Any specific reason why you can't be convinced? Apart from the fact that you don't want to be convinced, of course."

"I just don't feel comfortable joining someone whose origins are a Riddle."

Voldemort's eyes flashed with anger for a second. "Excuse me?"

"Just saying that we don't exactly know what your origins are. You could be half-blood, after all."

As soon as Harry had mentioned the term 'half-blood', he found himself being pulled back to the chair by chains before being bound to the spot. _Well, damn. That went well. Four months in Slytherin and I'm still a bloody Gryffindor._ He realised how the man before him had been trying to get something out of him, but judging by his reaction, this was certainly not what he had been expecting. Voldemort was on his feet, his wand in his hand and anger flaring in his eyes as he stared down at the bound young wizard. The three witches were all up, too, their wands pointed at Harry as if he was some criminal who had to be killed on sight. _I probably am._ Despite this all, Grindelwald kept sitting as he looked at Harry with a look that said, 'That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen.'

Frankly, though, Harry just didn't care now. When he found himself in this dimension, he had thought of it as a new opportunity, a fresh chance at life. No pressure of being the Boy-Who-Lived or the Chosen One. Who cared if Voldemort ruled? As long as he wasn't put in prison or expelled from the wizarding world, he couldn't care less about his worst enemy's counterpart being in power. But fate loved to mess with him. Most would consider it a childish wish, but he wanted to be free of any burdens for once.

But then he had managed to land himself in Slytherin. Perhaps he should've forced the hat to place him in Gryffindor. So far, he hadn't been showing a lot of Slytherin traits - that he could admit. When he had been in Gryffindor, he had found himself doubting his place there. Now that he was in the snake's house, he wondered whether it was the right match for him. If he had been in Gryffindor, would people have taken as much notice of him? After all, it wasn't uncommon for a half-blood to be sorted there.

And now here he was, sitting in the company of the very man he had been hoping to avoid. What was more, he had managed to anger him pretty badly. Why had he not taken note of the fact that he was in hostile territory?

"What did you just say?!" Riddle growled.

That was one thing this man shared with the other Voldemort - both would lose it if you mentioned their true status.

"I just meant that there was no guarantee that you're a pure-blood!" Harry shouted, the adrenaline going to his head.

"How dare you say that?!" Eleanor shrieked, losing all her calm, reminding Harry of Bellatrix's counterpart.

"Just insinuating! Come on!"

Voldemort's arm shook as if he was deciding whether or not to kill Harry on the spot. At last, though, he pulled back his hand, apparently having decided to keep Harry alive for now. _Probably knows that if he kills me, someone might suspect there's something fishy._ Instead, the Minister turned to the lady of the house.

"Eleanor, Veritaserum. Now," he tersely commanded.

"Yes, my lord," the woman said before ordering a house-elf to bring it. Over her shoulder, Harry saw Hermione shaking her head at him with eyes wide open.

Now he had done it. Veritaserum. The truth potion. There went his whole cover. Internally, he was swearing in every language he knew (English was the only language he knew, though). Now not only would he get it, but Dumbledore, too. Voldemort had been 'merciful' enough to allow the 'senile old fool' to continue as headmaster of Europe's best wizarding school, and now he had ruined everything. No matter how hard he tried to reach for the Elder Wand, the chains prevented him from doing so.

At last, the elf popped into the room and presented a small bottle to its mistress.

"Now, Harry," Voldemort addressed his captive in a calm, deadly voice. "Let's see who you are. A few drops should be enough, Eleanor."

"Open your mouth," ordered the witch, moving closer to administer the serum.

Harry shook his head in refusal. There was no way he was taking that. Not wanting to touch the half-blood, Eleanor whipped out her wand and gave it a wave. Harry found his head knocked backwards and his lungs emptied. As he gasped for air, she slipped three drops of the potion into Harry's mouth. He coughed and wheezed but in the end, Harry found the tasteless liquid running down his the little snake he had encountered in the forest would succinctly summarise the situation, _shite._

He waited for the expected effects - a lightheaded feeling, a state of carelessness, but nothing happened. He found himself feeling no different than what he was a few second ago, albeit a little less alarmed.

"Your name?" Bellatrix asked, hurrying over to Eleanor's side.

"Harry Peverell," Harry whispered.

"He's lying!" came Voldemort's annoyed voice from behind Bellatrix. "He's fighting it. Give him the whole bottle!"

That could be it. Perhaps he was resistant to it. After all, its effects were similar to the Imperius Curse's and if he was immune to that, it made sense that he could fight off the effects of Veritaserum as well. Or perhaps it was because of the fact that he had consumed the phoenix ash potion which had sealed away his mind. Maybe even a combination of the two. But he knew better than to begin celebrating just now because Eleanor had just waved her wand again. Once again, his head was knocked backwards and his lungs emptied themselves. But he refused to open his mouth, fighting the urge to breathe as his eyes began to water.

"Open your mouth, stupid boy!" shouted Eleanor. "You'll kill yourself!"

When he refused to comply, Bellatrix's fingers grasped his cheeks and lower jaw and attempted to pull his mouth open. He attempted to put on a fight but in the end, the desire for fresh air was just too much and he began gulping it in. Taking advantage of the situation, Eleanor overturned the vial, spilling its contents into the fighting wizard's mouth. He tried to spit it out but Bellatrix and Eleanor held his face upwards until he swallowed it all.

"Now, Harry," Bellatrix whispered, dusting her hands as if she had just handled something unclean. "What would your name be?"

"It's still Harry Peverell, Bella!" Harry spat, well aware of the fact that his mind was still his own.

Bellatrix recoiled, staring at him with wide eyes as lips curled into an unnerving smile as if she had discovered some sort of beast.

"Damn it!" Voldemort growled, coming over to Harry as the two witches made way for him by stepping aside. "Just what are you, boy?! _Imperio!_"

Nothing. Harry continued to stare at Voldemort with a smirk. His captor bent down to look at him eye to eye.

"You, Harry, are the greatest fool I have ever seen. Fighting Veritaserum and the Imperius Curse and yet not knowing that joining us is in your best interests...tsk. A pity. Dumbledore, it seems, has filled your head with too many lies for you to see through."

"There's at least one person who's an even greater fool than me and I'm staring at him," Harry whispered. "Who do you think you're fooling?"

"Don't get cheeky," Voldemort said, getting up. "We'll see how tough you are."

"What are you gonna do? Send me to Azkaban? Kill me? Afraid a Seventh Year's too big a challenge?!"

"Oh, no. Killing you won't solve anything. It'll just leave us with more questions. Sending you to Azkaban won't work if we want answers out of you. Your mind may be strong, but what about your body, Harry? Just how much pain can you take?"

"You tell me."

"Don't worry. Soon, I will. You will be there when we find out, of course. Eleanor, we'll be keeping him here. Taking him to Ministry's just going to get things out of hand and I don't feel like dealing with the press."

"Of course, my lord," the woman said, looking at Harry with a wrinkled nose as if he as some disgusting creature. "I'll have him placed back in his room."

"No, no. That won't do. That would be too comfortable for him, right?" Harry shrugged. "If I'm correct, Mathias once mentioned a dungeon beneath your house. Is it still there?"

"Yes, my lord, but it hasn't been used in years. I've never seen it hold a prisoner as long as I can remember."

"That will suffice. Do have an elf do something about any rats in there, if any. We don't want Harry to die of some rat disease, do we?"

"Do you?" Harry asked, trying to put on a brave face. _Great. What a wonderful Christmas! I'm getting locked in a dungeon._ "What're you gonna do when school opens, huh, Voldemort? Isn't Dumbledore going to find it suspicious that a student's missing?"

"Dumbledore is only headmaster because I haven't removed him," the wizard explained, ignoring the use of his feared title by a Seventh Year. "I only keep him there because it gives the old man something to do. Letting him run wild and free would only end up in him trying to stir up opposition. If you aren't who you say you are, I don't think he's going to have his job any longer, though. Otherwise, I trust you're aware of a handy little spell called _Obliviate._ You would have no memory of what happened here."

"Right," Harry spoke. Voldemort had thought it through. "But tell me, will I be getting food down in the dungeon or do I have to stay hungry? I'm sure the house elves here make a good meal."

Voldemort scowled at his bravado, "I will break you yet. Remove his wand, Hermione. It's yours." With that, he turned his attention to Bellatrix and Eleanor and began talking to them in hushed whispers.

_No! _Hermione came forward with a smirk on her face. Sweating profusely, Harry began wrestling with the chains in order to keep the witch at bay. But unfortunately for him, his attempts weren't successful and she was patting his jacket to check for the wand before moving down to his jeans' pockets.

"Don't do it, Hermione!" Harry tried to reason with her to no avail. "I though we were friends!"

She merely whispered, "You're the biggest idiot I've ever seen, Peverell."

And from his right pocket, she withdrew his wand. Harry groaned ruefully. Voldemort and the two witches were still in conversation but Harry caught sight of Grindelwald's eyes which widened when they saw the stick in Hermione's hand. The man's eyes switched rapidly from the wand to Harry and back. Harry had no doubt as to what the man had become interested in. He, too, felt like killing himself as he saw Hermione curiously run her fingers along the length of the wooden stick, whose reality she was unaware of.

The words of one Garrick Ollivander echoed in his mind: "_Whether it needs to pass by murder, I do not know. Its history is bloody, but that may be simply due to the fact that it is such a desirable object, and arouses such passions in wizards. Immensely powerful, dangerous in the wrong hands, and an object of incredible fascination to all of us who study the power of wands._"

There went the Elder Wand.

* * *

_ I'm sorry this took so much time, but I'm really busy these days with exams coming up ahead. And I'm aware that Harry is quite OOC in this chapter.  
_


	22. I'll Tell You!

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

_Yes. Two updates in one day. I had this written out so I decided to just go ahead and post it._

* * *

"You know, both of us would be happier if you just quit being so stubborn and just gave me your name."

"How many times do I have to say it?!" Harry said through clenched teeth. "It's Harry."

"But Harry what?" whispered Hermione, twirling her wand lovingly between her fingers.

"Harry Peverell."

Christmas had taken a bad turn for him. The previous night had passed rather slowly with Harry just sitting with his back to a pillar in the basement and hands tied to the aforementioned pillar behind him. Early in the morning, Bellatrix had popped in for a visit, looking too cheerful for her own good, and had asked him whether or not he was willing to tell the truth. He, of course, had maintained that he had never lied but she did not seem to pay any attention to his justifications.

Later on, Hermione Granger herself had decided to come to him. Whether it was of her own accord or if she had been sent in there by her mother, Harry did not know. What he had known when he saw her was that her intentions weren't exactly good. After all, when the daughter of Voldemort's staunchest supporters came to you with a wand hanging by her side while you were preoccupied with being unable to react, you feared the worst.

And of course, his fears had been right when she took a seat in front of him on a conjured chair before droning on about how he better come clean. When he refused to give up his claims of being a Peverell, she had remarked how stubborn he was and didn't know what was good for him. What had followed was a session of her trying to get into his mind. But no matter how hard she tried, she was simply unable to break down the mental barriers that concealed his conscience. From there onwards, things had gone downhill.

"You never learn, do you? How about we step this up a notch? _Crucio!_"

A piercing wave of pain shot up Harry's back, but he could do nothing but take it owing to the fact that he was currently unable to defend himself. But then the pain suddenly died away, not leaving any remnants behind. It was as if it had never been there.

"Well, well," Harry commented. "Seems you don't want to see me hurt. You don't mean it, do you?"

"Didn't it hurt you much?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Not really."

"So it's supposed to hurt more?"

"I guess it is."

"Like this?" She asked before smirking. "_Crucio!_"

This time, it was real pain. He bit his tongue to stop himself from screaming, only letting out a suppressed hiss of discomfort. His shoulder hurt so bad that he seriously considered breaking it just to be rid of the throbbing ache.

"I take that as a yes," she said. When Harry didn't reply, she continued, "Is that all you've got? I thought you'd be tougher, considering what you did last night. Calling the Dark Lord by that name, insinuating he'd be anything less than a pure-blood - those things require backbone, _Peverell_- or should I just call you Harry? Speaking of backbones..."

Another wave of agony flooded his back, making his back harder against the stone pillar. When it finally subsided, he was left gasping slightly. But he didn't allow himself the comfort of breathing in freely, considering it a sign of weakness.

"Why are you doing this, Hermione?" he asked, looking her in the eye. "Are you really such a monster that you enjoy torturing your classmate?"

"I guess I am."

"Tsk, I'd expected better from you. Here you are, member of a family of the upper echelon of wizarding society torturing a poor little half-blood like me. Isn't that a job for lesser mortals? People who thrive on nothing but someone else's misery?"

She frowned, "Are you trying to mess with me? Do you actually think that I'll stop just because of what you say?"

"No, I'd be a fool for believing that. After all, you'll only do what your lord tells you and you'll do it blindly."

"But you are a fool, Harry. We've been at this for half an hour. I have better things to do so let's get this done with quickly_._"

Having said that, the witch drew from inside her robes the Elder Wand. _This won't end well._ She examined it carefully before him.

"This is one strange wand," she remarked, referring to the bumps along it that were made to look like elder berries. "A strange wand for a strange wizard. How fitting. You defeated me this, right? Let's see how the master likes it when the wand turns against him." She pointed the wand at him. "_Crucio!"_

As expected by Harry, the pain this time dwarfed that which he had suffered when his torturer had been using her own wand. A cross between a scream and a growl escaped him as he banged his foot on the floor, waiting for it to end while his brain went into overdrive, trying to figure out a way to make it end.

"Alright! I lied!" Harry found himself saying between wheezes.

As soon as these words escaped him, Hermione lowered the wand, ostensibly impressed by its power. Harry felt sweat running down his face in the cold weather. His body prickled due to the heat in it.

"We know that," Hermione whispered. "But who exactly are you?"

Once again, he felt the searing ache spread through him. Fighting it with every bit of effort he could muster, Harry grunted, "I'll t-tell you!"

The worst of the pain stopped even though its aftereffects lingered. "Then tell me."

His brain racing, Harry gasped, "I'm a Peverell. No, no, don't start that again! Listen to me first. I'm a Peverell - at least, that what my mom claimed. That we're descended from them or something."

Hermione frowned. "You still haven't told me who you are."

"Briggs. That was my father's family name. Look him up! You'll find him. A muggle postman," the words spilled from his mouth.

"And I'm supposed to take your word for this?"

"I'm just telling you the truth. No, put down the wand! Don't do it again!"

Lowering the wand with a disappointed expression, Hermione asked, "So why did you choose to call yourself Peverell this whole time?"

"I just told you, didn't I?" he argued. "I'm a Peverell! If given the choice between a muggle name and that of a pure-blood family, which one would you choose?"

"Oh, please. You're not one to care about blood status. I would have expected you to keep the muggle name."

Harry had been expecting this. "Who says all muggles are wonderful? Have your father hate you for being a wizard and then come back to me."

The next minute passed in silence as Hermione's face scrunched up in deep thought as she tried to put his story together and see if it was plausible. After a while, she stood up and spoke, "I'll be back. Don't go anywhere - not that you can do that."

Harry called out after her, "Hey! Let me go now!"

As the door at the top of the stairs shut, Harry found himself sigh in relief. His body still ached from the lingering effects of the Cruciatus Curse. The Elder Wand was working perfectly for Hermione, otherwise it shouldn't have harmed him. It had recognised her as its new owner. Apart from that, he thought he did pretty well. He had come up with the idea of telling a lie to cover up a lie quite a while ago but he wasn't sure when the time was right for him to spill it. If he had immediately seceded to the witch's demands, it would have been obvious that he was lying, stubborn as he was.

The Elder Wand's Cruciatus Curse had told him the time was right, though. He really didn't want to feel that again. Having a Bludger smash into him was preferable. And so he had told her whatever lies came to his mind. The part about a muggle father hating him had obviously been inspired by Voldemort's own life and how he had remained bitter after that, choosing to fashion himself a new name. As for the rest, he had no idea where it came from. He kept making things as he spoke.

Voldemort could look for a muggle Briggs if he wanted to. He would find him. In fact, he'd probably find a thousand. And if he wanted to look for any Briggs married to witches, good luck with getting someone to sneak under the radar a second time. If his man was caught, Harry didn't doubt the prospect of drastic consequences.

His train of thought was interrupted by the opening of the door and the entrance of Eleanor in glittering midnight blue robes, followed by her daughter. A curious expression graced her face when she saw Harry, who put on an expressionless face as he stared into the distance.

"Hello, Harry," she greeted in a cold voice. "I understand that you've decided to be a good little boy and cooperate."

The wizard didn't reply.

"Now, Harry, you can do better."

"What do you want?" he asked defensively. "I've already told Hermione everything I had to say. Are you here to let me go?"

"Not so fast. You see, your previous record has made you...less than trustworthy."

"So I'm just going to be locked up in here forever?"

"No, no," she said, pacing before him. "If it were up to me, I'd have you tossed out before you can say 'mudblood'. Unfortunately, I'm not in the position to do that right now. All we need is to make sure that you are who you say you are, and then we'll see what is to be done."

Harry" sighed. He had been expecting this. "What do I do until you confirm it?"

"Why, you stay here, of course. Now, if you excuse me, we must be leaving. The Blacks do know how to throw a Christmas ball and Bella refuses to go without us. You really annoyed her. She can't over how you ruined her chance to show the Dark Lord that phoenix. Maybe some other day. Merry Christmas, Harry."

With that, she left along with her daughter, shutting the door behind them and leaving Harry alone to his thoughts.

* * *

While Harry didn't have any way of telling the time, since his watch was still in his pocket and his hands were unable to reach it, he estimated that an hour or two had passed since Eleanor and Hermione had left the basement. He hadn't expected them to let him go this easily but it still angered him that he had to stay there until a lie could be proved to be the truth. At least he had managed to delay his suffering for now. That was the only thing on his mind at the moment as he tried to pass the time.

"_Now where did those mice go? They've always been here._"

Harry hastily looked around for the source of the slightly high-pitched voice but he couldn't see anything.

"_Who's there?_" he inquired urgently.

"_Another snake?!_" exclaimed the voice. "_Have you eaten my mice?!_"

_Snake?_ Harry was befuddled. Unless... "_No. I'm not a snake. I'm a human. Where are you?_"

From behind him, Harry something slither closer to him. Definitely a snake. He really needed to learn how to differentiate between Parseltongue and English. And a snake it was that slithered around him before coming to a stop in front of him and coiling itself before facing him. It wasn't really long but it made up for it by being thicker than most snakes he had seen. His green eyes stared into its slits.

"_What is a human doing in here?_" it asked. "_This is my __hunting ground_. _Where are my mice?_"

"_I'm... a prisoner, I guess. And the mice were supposed to be removed by the house elves when I came here._"

"_No mice!_" it asked, alarmed.

"_Er, I'm sorry?_"

"_Why are you a prisoner, human? You speak our tongue and they tie you up!_"

"_I made some really stupid decisions._"

"_I will go out and hunt for mice and bring some for you. You must eat._"

Harry hastily shook his head. _"No! It's okay. I don't eat snakes._" His stomach growled. _"Even though I could use something by now._"

"_When will you leave, human?_" the snake asked, a hint of concern in its voice.

"_I have no idea, to be honest. It's these stupid ropes!_" he said, shaking his hands behind him to indicate the ropes that tied his arms and hands together.

The reptile moved to his back to inspect his shackles before returning before him.

"_I... I cannot open them,_" it said. "_I_ _have failed a speaker._"

A candle lit up in Harry's mind. "_Hey! Could you...Do you think you could get a mouse to open them?_"

"_Perhaps... But I will need a mouse for that to happen first._"

"_Do it, please. For a speaker!_"

Without a reply, the animal slithered away behind him. Over his shoulder, Harry saw it disappear into a hole which was probably the opening of some pipe. He silently prayed that the snake had decided to help him. Even if it had decided to, there was no guarantee that he was going to escape. The ropes might be charmed to stop from opening them. Unfortunately, he couldn't even test them owning to the fact that he couldn't move his fingers in the first place.

And then he heard it. The sounds of a struggling mouse and the muffled hisses of a snake coming from behind him. Struggling to look back, he caught sight of the snake coming up to him with something dangling out of its mouth. He suppressed a snort at the sight. He had a strange fluttery feeling in his stomach similar to the ones he had whenever Professor McGonagall handed out his marked essay.

"_Yes! Bring it over,_" he hissed.

And the snake did exactly that, stopping right next to where his hands were bound. It proceeded to dangle the struggling mouse before the ropes but the mouse refused to do anything. _How exactly do I tell a mouse what to do__?_ Harry wondered. The snake kept pushing the little animal at the ropes. It continued like this for the next few minutes until finally, the mouse seemed to get the idea. Perhaps it had decided that the snake didn't want to eat it and just wanted it to get some work done.

"Agh!" Harry grunted as a shock went through his arms and spread throughout his body, blurring his vision. He felt someone had just hit him on his head rather hard._ The stupid ropes are charmed!_

Upon hearing Harry's sound of unease, the snake withdrew the mouse, but Harry ordered it to keep going. He was going to die anyway. He'd take the path which had a better survival chance. The mouse dutifully went about chewing the ropes, stopping only when the snake pulled back to give Harry a rest. His arms were beginning to get numb now. He could feel the mouse biting against his skin, feeling glad that he hadn't eaten anything. He had no problem with mice, but who knew where this one came from?

"_Yes!_" Harry exclaimed as the ropes fell loose. _Sweet freedom_, he relished, contracting and extending his fingers in joy before turning around to see the snake swallow the mouse which had just rescued him. Talk about expressing your gratitude...

"_You have done well!_" Harry told the snake, which opened its mouth to reply but immediately closed it when the sound of someone opening the metal door to the basement was heard. "_Escape now! Don't return. This place is dangerous now!_" Harry ordered, making the snake hurry back to the hole. He himself returned to his earlier position and tried his best to cover his hands with the rope's remains.

_Of all the people-_ Gellert Grindelwald had decided to make his entry into the basement now, the faint hue of golden in his hair becoming more prominent due to the light of the sole lamp in the basement. The man, clothed in immaculate gray robes, was looking rather interestedly at Harry. There was no smile on his face, nor was there any anger. He was impossible to read! _Snape and him probably had lessons together in that._

Harry met his gaze head-on. "I've already told them everything. Can I help you?"

The man's thin lips curled into a faint smile as he conjured himself a seat. "Harry Peverell, wielder of the Elder Wand," he said, pausing after each word for dramatic effect. "Or former wielder, to be more accurate. Don't deny it. I know that was the Elder Wand and judging by your unwillingness to part with it, so did you. The same can't be said for its current owner though. She has no idea of the power she wields."

"Is this what you've come to talk to me about?" Harry asked incredulously. "I already know that."

"Tell me, boy, why is it that you have Dumbledore's wand? He would never willingly part with it. And I don't believe that you disarmed him."

"It's a long story. It'll only give you a headache."

"Come now, boy," Grindelwald sighed. "Just answer my question. You definitely didn't have that when I was at the dueling competition."

"And why should I tell you anything?" Harry questioned skeptically.

"Because you aren't in any position to bargain with me. Let's face it. Left here, there's no way you're going to get out. Tell me what I want to know and I... might be able to do something."

"So now you're helping me?" he asked. "Like I'm going to believe that. If there's anything that yesterday reminded me, it's that you can't trust anyone."

"And I'm the last person you would trust, right? Tom's aide?"

"Sounds about right."

"Speaking of Tom, you know a lot about him. More than I would expect from someone who's just a Seventh Year. Why would you know so much?"

"Not talking."

"Fine, then good luck rotting here, boy."

Before the man had the chance to stand up and leave, Harry quickly blurted out, "Why do you care, though? Why in the world would you help me when you're with...him?"

Grindelwald chuckled harshly. "Do you know who I am? Of course, you do. Now tell me, haven't you wondered what I was doing running around with our Dark Lord friend?"

Harry shrugged indicating 'sometimes'.

"Do you really think I would willingly work under him? His ego's worse than any I've seen. I only came under him because Nurmengard was one big hellhole. You spend one night there, boy, and keep your sanity - I'll admit you're a legend."

"So you just work with him because you didn't like your prison?!"

"Of course, not. I'm damage control."

"And the Dark Lord is damage, I presume," Harry found himself saying. "What? Is that some kind of moderating job?"

"I just keep him in check."

"But don't you two have the same idea?! Enslavement of muggles? One wizarding empire?!"

"We did have the same idea," the man said, stroking his own chin. "Did."

"So you expect me to believe that you've changed?"

"I haven't changed. Call it self-preservation. Do you really think they allowed me to keep all my powers when I was stuffed into Nurmengard? If only I could kill Tom..." An unnerving smirk spread on his face. "All I do is restrain Tom's mind from wandering off into space. The ideas that that man has, he's going to ruin all of wizarding society. No more muggleborns! Does he want to kill the whole wizarding populace?! Muggles are one thing. But Muggleborns? I'd rather have Dumbledore rule the world."

"So it's all for the Greater Good?" Harry asked.

"All for the Greater Good. I may not be able to beat our friend, but I can play my own part. His ego gets the better of him, makes him forget who his real enemies are. He sees what he wants to see. He wants to see me, 'his predecessor' has his underling. So be it."

"You could be making this all up," asserted Harry.

"Oh, Merlin! Who do you think keeps the Order informed?!" Grindelwald asked exasperatedly.

"T-the Order? Of the..." Harry's voice trailed off.

"Phoenix. The Order of the Phoenix. I know about that and so do you. Granted, I do it only when I feel especially generous, but I do. So let's just quit the games, Harry Peverell or whoever you are."

"Wait, wait. How do you know about the Order? It's supposed to be a secret!"

"What? Did you expect me not to notice that Dumbledore was up to something when Tom began gathering power? Albus was my only real friend, boy. I wouldn't be surprised if you knew that, too. Something, though, it seemed that he thought me as more than a friend. It tended to get rather...queer. The only visitor I would ever have in my prison. And what did I do? I confronted him."

"And he admitted it?"

"The man can't help it. He thought I could help him with the inner workings of a Dark Lord's mind. Do you have any idea how much trouble I had to go through to convince Tom to let the man keep his place as headmaster?"

"Probably a lot..." If Grindelwald actually knew about the Order, then he could trust him. But then why in the world did Dumbledore have him conceal the identity of the Elder Wand during the tournament? _Because he wanted to avoid this situation,_ his mind's voice told him. _He knew that Grindelwald would be intrigued. But he never bothered to tell you about their correspondence. _"Alright, I guess I can trust you."

"Finally. At least you're being cautious. After that display yesterday, I had no idea you were capable of a sense of danger."

"Yeah, yeah. How did you manage to come here anyway?"

"Being the Dark Lord's aide has its perks when it comes to entering the houses of prominent pure-blood families. The wards recognise me. As for the elves here... they don't know I'm here. Neither does Tom, for that matter, busy as he is with the Blacks today."

"Then what do you want to know?" Harry asked.

"The Elder Wand. Where did you get that from?"

"Er, long story. You wouldn't believe it anyway."

"Try me."

"I...I can't," admitted the younger wizard. "I'm sorry. I can't tell you the truth. In fact, I'm not even sure why this happened. But I can tell you one thing: At this time, there are two Elder Wands in the world. One's with Dumbledore, the other's with you-know-who."

"Two?!" the man sputtered. "That's not possible. What are you saying, boy?!"

"See? The truth is outrageous. Believe me. I don't like my situation at all but the fact is that I'm stuck with it. Ask Dumbledore. Seeing as you two seem to be secret contacts, I'll leave it to him to reveal the truth to you."

"You put too much faith in the man."

"Well, he does manage to keep me out of trouble. I should've listened to him when he told me not to leave Hogwarts for the holidays."

"At least tell me who you are, damn it!"

"You won't believe that either."

"Kid, do you want to get out or not?"

"What if I told you I was a Potter?"

Grindelwald frowned. "I wouldn't believe you. They're all dead! The family doesn't exist anymore."

"Seems like there's one living."

"You know what?" the man sighed. "You're right. The truth is outrageous. Either you're delusional, or something really unexplainable's going on."

"Oh, just get me and that phoenix out of here!" Harry exclaimed, frustrated.

"Now there's a phoenix, too?! Come on. This is not normal."

"The one Bellatrix's got in her room."

"Why would she have one? Forget that, how would she have one? It would have disappeared on its own."

"Not when you've sealed the cage with Runes," Harry told him. "Blame Borgin and Burkes. They were planning on auctioning it before it was confiscated. I may have had a part to play in that, but that's not the point. Tell me, er, Grindelwald, do you really want to see it fall into Voldemort's hands?"

The man gave an uncharacteristic snort. "Much use it'll be to him. The moment he lets it out, it's gonna go away from him faster than he can blink. And what in the world would he do with a caged bird? Keep it as a model?"

"So let's get it out!"

"Why do you care so much about it, huh?"

"I have no idea."

"You're no help, boy. I've learned nothing from you except the doubtful claim that you're a Potter."

"Deal with it," Harry said, standing up and letting go of the ropes he had pretended to have tied to his arms when Grindelwald waved his wand to free him.

"I'm only doing this because I can see you're different, boy. You had the Elder Wand and Dumbledore still trusted you. That's got to count for something, I guess. Can't let you fall into Tom's hands just because you were rather stupid. Don't expect any more favours. As I said, I'm just playing damage control."

"But what about when they notice that I'm gone? And the phoenix, too?"

"Not my headache. Tom's too thick to notice it was me. Let's just pretend you're rather proficient at wandless magic."

"Er, right..." he mumbled in reply as Grindelwald tapped his head, sending a Disillusionment Charm trickling down him. The man proceeded to do the same to himself before silencing their footsteps. "We're going to my room first. I need to get my stuff."

Harry led Grindelwald to the room in which he had been staying yesterday. He was cautious when it came to moving quickly. The Disillusionment Charm didn't grant complete invisibility. An observant house elf could spot the pair sneaking off. Fortunately for them, the only elf they encountered was too busy polishing a portrait's frame.

"_Alohomora!_"

The door to the room unlocked and Harry hurried inside. His trunk stood just as he had left it yesterday, untouched and locked. He had his rescuer shrink it before stuffing it into his mokeskin pouch, all the time wondering how he was going to get it out. He ought to pay Ollivander a visit.

"So where does Bellatrix stay?" Harry asked, closing the door to the room behind him.

"Right next to Eleanor's room, I guess," Grindelwald said, shrugging.

"And where would that be?"

"Follow me."

And follow him he did, going back down the large staircase and into the hallway in which the dining room was situated. They stopped at the third room to the right.

"I guess this is it since Granger does seem to frequent it a lot, if I remember correctly."

"So try the next room." When it wasn't what they were looking for, they moved onto the next. "Not this either. Next one."

When they came to the fourth room, Harry's lips grew into a smile. He wasn't grinning at the massive bed, nor at the fact that he was in a woman's room. It was the fact that on the table in the middle of the room, placed in the middle of two armchairs, was the black-cloth-draped cage of the phoenix, just as Harry had last seen it.

"There," Harry pointed victoriously. "What did I tell you? Phoenix."

"I can't see what's underneath it, kid. Move."

The man shuffled forward and removed the cloth from the cage. The moment he did so, Harry's eyes connected with the brilliantly coloured bird and he felt the same rush he had felt earlier when he had seen in in Diagon Alley, though it was severely mitigated this time. He didn't find himself going into panic mode. The bird knew where Harry was standing and kept staring at Harry, who firmly returned its gaze. Grindelwald, on the other hand, kept locking back and forth between the phoenix and the camouflaged Harry, curiosity penned across his face in bold.

"Alright, snap out of it," he finally said. "What were you doing staring at it like that? Why do you want to rescue this thing so much?"

"I told you, I can't let this fall into Voldemort's hands!"

"No, there's something else. You look at it as if you're friends meeting after a long time."

"Don't got there."

"Just another one of your mysteries?"

"Whatever you want to call it."

"Can't argue with a phoenix's judgment," Grindelwald remarked, bending over to examine the markings on the cage. "It's the Three-Branched Seal."

"The what?"

"The Three-Branched Seal. Extremely simple, overwhelmingly powerful. Give me your hand."

Harry tentatively extended his hand, not sure what the man was going to do. He had come this far. Might as well go all the way. Grindelwald tapped his thumb. A thin cut formed across it, letting out scarlet blood. Harry frowned.

"Now how does this help me?"

Lifting the cage up, Grindelwald told him, "Now trace your thumb on these markings. Do it quick. Don't let the blood dry."

Harry found himself running his thumb across the strange patterns on the sides of the base. To be honest, he had no idea what he was doing. When he was ones on the sides, the older wizard raised the cage so that Harry could reach the bottom. At the bottom, Harry had his thumb smearing blood over three lines that began from three points on the circular base's circumference and then split up into two prongs that joined with the branch from the others line. In the middle of each of the forks, ran another line. The three met in the center of the circle. _The Three-Branched Seal.__  
_

Grindelwald began muttering incomprehensible words as Harry pressed down on his thumb to stop the bleeding, his heart thumping as he eagerly awaited the seal's removal. The older wizard finished with a clap of his near-invisible hands and touched the sides of the cage. There was a blinding flash of light that had the pair of wizards cover their eyes.

"It's gone," Harry exclaimed, astonished. "The cage's gone! Where?!"

"Into nothingness," came the terse reply.

The red and gold bird now stood on the table, radiating a warmth that Harry had come to expect from Fawkes but hadn't felt form this bird. He blamed it on the effects of the seal. That feeling of urgency that had been bothering him seemed to ebb away as looked at the phoenix, which was currently staring at Gellert Grindelwald. There was an unsure look on the man's face before he finally managed to break eye contact and looked at Harry.

"Alright, then. We've freed it," he said. "The bird can disappear on its own. Just let me get rid of any evidence that we, especially I, were here. Then I leave you somewhere and we go our separate ways until Tom decides he wants you back. Get yourself a wand and disappear! Don't go to Dumbledore. He's already going to be in a big mess over you."

"You're not as bad they make you out to be, Grindelwald," Harry admitted.

"Nurmengard, Harry, Nurmengard- what the-" he exclaimed as the bird suddenly took flight, spreading its magnificent plumage.

"Beautiful, isn't it. Wait-" Harry looked alarmed as the bird suddenly made for him.

He tried to step away but wasn't quick enough. The phoenix caught him by the hair. The last thing Harry saw was Grindelwald's barely-visible face. Before he knew it, he found himself being painfully pushed through a barrier as the world around him twisted and contorted in a vortex of colour at an unimaginable pace.

* * *

_Don't expect any updates over the next month since I'm going to be really busy thanks to my exams. _


	23. No Other Place To Go To

Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter.  
_

_Concerning the transfer of a wand's allegiance, I agree that it's one of the series' sillier concepts since people lose duels all the time. But the way I see it, I think it just means that the wand will work properly for the person who defeated its real owner while still remaining loyal to its actual owner. I think that the wand that Harry used against Voldemort at the end of the seventh book would still work for Draco Malfoy, too. J.K. Rowling herself said that the Elder Wand is different in the way that it seeks out power. I don't think it would transfer its allegiance just because someone random disarmed Harry - it would have to be someone who was also pretty powerful for the wand to transfer its allegiance. And the wand can't be owned by some Snatcher because: 1) The ones that captured Harry weren't exactly the most powerful wizards of the lot. 2) Even if they were, the Elder Wand belonged to Draco Malfoy at the time because Harry hadn't disarmed him yet. After Harry disarmed Malfoy, though, he never lost a duel. _

___**And I was fiddling with the story and it resulted in all the favourites and followers of the story getting removed. So feel free to add it to those categories again if you want to.**_

* * *

"You're up!" a strong voice exclaimed. "Finally!"

Harry, who had just opened his eyes, sat up faster than he thought possible, his back straight as a stick as he looked around for the source of the sound. It was only then that he became aware of the thing mattress he had been lying on. He was in a little room, its walls made of wood by the looks of them. There was nothing special about the place. No furnishings adorned the less than roomy area apart from the bed that he was on and a table on its side with a midnight blue potion on it.

The young wizard, though, had eyes only for the man who stood in the doorway. The daylight behind him made it a little trying for him to make out his features at first. His first thought had been 'Dumbledore'. But no, this wasn't the aged headmaster of his school but someone else entirely. Sure, he had a long, silvery beard and hair to match, but the lines on this character's face weren't as defined and his nose wasn't at all crooked. And of course, this man wasn't wearing robes. Harry wasn't sure what to make of his clothes since he was only dressed in what could be called the dazzlingly white brother of a muggle academic gown.

At last, he found his voice, "Er, where am I?"

"Why, you're here of course. With me, that is," the man replied, not answering his question at all before heading over to him and wandlessly conjuring a stool next to Harry, who was impressed by the feat of magic. "So how do you feel?"

"Fine, I guess," Harry mumbled.

"No headache, I hope? Your memory's still intact?"

"I'm fine... I think. Just a little more sleepy. What happened?" Harry lied, trying to recall what he had been doing previously.

"What happened?! You've been out for a day. And you're still sleepy?! Kreis, it seems, had no idea that transporting you through the barrier would have some side-effects. You can thank the magic around here for that."

"Kreis? Oh, damn!" Harry suddenly exclaimed, jumping onto the floor. "What happened to that phoenix?! It practically kidnapped me!"

"Ah," the man smiled. "You finally remember."

"You bet I do. Grindelwald got me out of that crazy house and then that bird jumped at me."

"Yes, yes, I know what happened to you. That bird, as you call him, is Kreis."

"How do you know what happened to me?" Harry abruptly asked, cutting his tirade short.

"Why, Kreis told me himself, though he doesn't know what went on while he couldn't see you."

"What else do you know?"

"Things," the man answered.

Harry's jaw dropped. This man wasn't helping at all with his answers that weren't actual answers. Shaking his head, Harry thrust his feet into his shoes which were lying just beside the small bed. Before the man had a chance to stop him - he didn't look like he was going to make any attempt to do that either - the young wizard headed for the door and stepped out.

_What the hell?_

That was all he had to say to himself as his mouth fell open once again as he stared at the open plains in front of him, the colour of which matched his eyes - which was a stunning surprise considering it was December and everything ought to be blanketed in snow. Not a single living thing was in sight. The grass ended in the distance and gave way to towering mountains, their peaks bare of any snow, too. Harry stumbled outside, his heart hammering, and turned around to look at the small, one-room place he was staying in. It didn't look any more impressive from the outside.

"Where exactly do you plan on going, Harry Potter?" asked the old man, stepping outside with a cane in his hand.

Harry's hand jumped for his wand but found none. _Damn you, Hermione Granger!_ This man did know things, as he had claimed. Important things, too. Things that no one should have known. Voldemort himself had been unable to get the secret of his identity out. Yet, here was an old man with a cane whom Harry had never seen calling him by his real name.

"Don't look so astonished! You are Harry Potter, are you not?"

"What if I said no?"

"Then you would be lying, of course."

"How are you so sure?"

"The stars don't lie. With your name so big up there," the man motioned towards the blue heavens before continuing, "I'm surprised anyone else hasn't figured it out."

The younger man had to suppress a groan as he silently cursed the stars. First the Centaurs, now this man. Thank heavens Voldemort wasn't a Divination buff or he'd be found out before he had time to say 'Potter'.

"Alright," Harry admitted. "In that case, it's only fair that I know where I am. Or who you are. Or both..."

"My name... Well, wizards can refer to me as Fabius. Aside from that, I have no name-"

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, unable to hold in his curiosity.

"Look around you, Harry Potter. What don't you see?"

"People? Animals? Cars? Brooms? I think it'd be easier answering what I can actually see," Harry rattled off.

"Exactly. There are no people here, so I don't really need to have a name, do I? There can never be any humans here unless I permit them to enter the realm or, as Kreis showed you, a phoenix pulls you in."

"Why did Kreis bring me here?" Harry questioned, walking after the man as he walked forward.

"He had to take you somewhere, did he not? We will elaborate on that later. What you can know, though, is that you stand upon on ground that few men have been fortunate enough to tread."

"You still haven't answered my question, Fabius. What exactly is this place?"

"Why, it's phoenix territory, Harry Potter," came the answer at last. "This is just one of the few homes of wild phoenixes and me - I'm the one who has been tasked with the responsibility of taking care of it and keeping intruders away."

"You're kidding!" Harry cried out, looking around. For a home of phoenixes, this one sure had a shortage of the birds.

Fabius stopped and stretched out his finger, pointing at the mountains. "Mountains. The preferred home of phoenixes. What kind of magic do you know that would be strong enough to keep the effects of snow away from such a large place, Harry Potter."

Still doubting the man a little, Harry had to agree that he didn't think it was possible to maintain such a large weather charm no matter how powerful a wizard someone was. Suddenly, there was a flash of golden flames in the distant mountains. It would have been too small for Harry to notice had there only been one burst of fire but he was unable to miss the sudden appearance of flames in different places at almost the same time.

"Six of them burning at the same time," remarked Fabius. "You don't see that everyday."

"You don't see six phoenixes everyday, let alone watch them burn," Harry deadpanned.

"Not where you're from, no. Now tell me, where exactly is it that you plan on going?"

"Hogwarts," Harry stated after a moment's reflection.

"The wizarding school? What exactly do you plan on doing there? Last time I checked, you were lacking a tool to channel your magic. To be more specific, you don't have a wand."

Harry growled inwardly. He knew that he didn't have a wand, and he did not like to be reminded of the fact. It made him feel weak, vulnerable. What played the part of the salt on his wounds was the fact that the wand he lost was no ordinary wand - it was _the freaking Elder Wand._ And he could think of few worse people to possess it than its current owner.

"At least you seem to realise the gravity of your situation," the man in white commented, having caught sight of the solemn look on the young man's face. "Care to enlighten me about your current situation?"

"Only if you tell me why I'm here first."

"I would prefer that you go first."

"I'd rather not," Harry stubbornly refused.

"In that case, neither of us will ever know what we want to know. And don't think that I'll give in, Harry Potter. I have all the time in the world."

Harry did not yield - at least not for a while. Eventually, though, his curiosity and desire to know about what was going on got the better of him and he ended up saying that he would tell what he had to say first. With a thin smile on his face, Fabius ushered him back into the little dwelling (if it could be called that). With Harry on the bed and the other man on his chair, the young wizard narrated his tale, trying to make it sound as innocuous as possible but failing since his companion proved to be exceptionally perceptive and caught him every time he lied.

Once Harry had completed his narration of events from his arrival at Borgin and Burkes to the part where he was 'kidnapped' by a bird, a veil of silence was cast over the pair as they sat staring at whatever caught their fancy - not that there was anything that encapsulated Harry's interest in the room.

After what seemed like eons, Fabius spoke up, "Well, that was quite a display of rashness even for one so young. But a riveting tale nonetheless. Yes, very riveting."

"Glad you think so..." Harry found himself mumbling. "Now can we get to the part where I get to know what I want to know?"

"We can."

When the man said nothing further, Harry sighed. "Then let's get to it."

"Very well."

Having said that, the old man snapped his fingers and Harry immediately leaped back, startled at the burst of golden flames that had appeared out of thin air next to him. A phoenix's cry filled the air and the very same bird which he had helped rescue appeared in midair before coming to rest on Harry's head, much to his surprise.

Fabius, who spent a while observing the two, making Harry feel slightly awkward since he had a magical bird on perched atop him and a strange old man looking thoughtfully at him, said, "Just as I suspected."

"And you suspected...?"

"You claim you encountered Kreis here in a shop in Diagon Alley, London - a shop you vehemently claimed to be a Dark magic enthusiast's heaven. And phoenixes are anything but Dark creatures. In fact, they're the opposite. After all, they represent life whereas most Dark magic revolves around death. And considering what Voldemort's done to Britain, I'm hardly surprised you were the person Kreis judged as the one with the purest intentions when he saw you. Now as you very well know, phoenixes can't talk, so he made you work to free him by planting the idea in your mind the moment you saw each other, making you feel as though you had an obligation to free him. I'm right, aren't I? You had this feeling that you were supposed to help Kreis or things would be very bad indeed."

Harry directed his eyes upwards to stare at Kreis, who seemed eager to return his gaze with what seemed to be a cheeky grin in his eyes. So had this bird merely been bending him to his will? Not exactly, but Harry still felt that he had been played.

"But I have to admit," continued Fabius. "It was rather stupid of Kreis to be caught like that. But then again, he's still young. If it had been any other phoenix, you can bet those wizards would have been in some serious trouble. But I digress. The point, Harry Potter, is that Kreis seems to have taken a liking to you rather quickly. The only reason he brought you hear was because he thought I could help you."

"Help me?" a confused Harry asked.

"You've lost your wand, boy, and have no place to go. You need all the help you can get. Hogwarts isn't going to be safe for much longer now that Voldemort has found out that Albus Dumbledore's been scheming. But I can't help you unless you tell me why you seem so bent on keeping your identity a secret. Just what is it that bothers you so much about Voldemort?"

"It's complicated. I've told this to everyone and I'll repeat it again: You won't believe me," Harry told the man.

"I'm old enough to have forgotten my age, boy. I've seen many wizards come and go here, each with a wacky tale of his own. Try me." Fabius smiled.

Harry sat there silently, not saying anything while a tumultuous debate raged in the depths of his mind. To tell or not to tell the truth? That was the question. While it was true that he did not know the man well enough to reveal to him his closely guarded secrets, he didn't sense any ill will from Fabius. He was supposed to be some kind of guardian of a place which humans couldn't normally visit. That had to count for something. And if the phoenix on his head trusted him, that was reason enough for Harry to do so, too. Besides, Fabius couldn't assist him unless he knew the truth, right?

"Alright," Harry began. "What do you know about alternate dimensions?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. Few people bother to study such arcane topics the existence of which is impossible to prove."

"Well, I'm from one," Harry put it succinctly. "At least that's what Dumbledore theorised. And it's the only possible explanation. I mean, I'm not dead. At the same time, the world isn't quite how I remembered it and I'd know if I lost my memory, believe me."

"And when exactly did you pop into this, er, dimension," Fabius asked, leaning forward, a curiosity eerily similar to Dumbledore's in his brown eyes.

"In August."

"Right about the time-"

"You astrology buffs claim to have seen me in the stars, yeah, that's right. Anyway, before I arrived here, we had a war going on in my world. It was 1998 and Voldemort had seized control of the Ministry. It's not like what happened here. He was much, much more brutal when it came to his methods in my world. Anyway, me and Voldemort - we were dueling and he tried to kill me with the Elder Wand, which I told you I don't have anymore, but failed because I was the actual owner of the wand. But then again, the wand was supposed to win its master every duel. Dumbledore says it created some sort of paradox or something and it merely got rid of me from that world but didn't kill me."

"And pray tell what you were doing dueling the maniac in the first place."

And Harry launched into a full-scale explanation of how things were, how there was a prophecy that he was supposed to be the one to vanquish the Dark Lord, how he had lost his parents to him, how he had escaped yearly murder plots, how he had set out to hunt Horcruxes and how he had come to the confrontation against Voldemort.

Once he was done, there was silence. Even the occasional trilling of Kreis had seized. Fabius stared vacantly into space. Harry fidgeted, waiting for a reply, a reaction of some kind.

"Tell me, boy. The prophecy never mentioned what time it had to be fulfilled in, did it?"

"Er, no," Harry answered, having a strange feeling that he knew where this was going. "But it did say that the Dark Lord would mark me as his equal, didn't it? It didn't say anything about this Dark Lord."

"'Neither can live while the other survives' - In a way, the prophecy has been fulfilled. To your own world, you're as good as dead, leaving Voldemort free to live as he pleases unless, of course, someone else were to take up the mantle against him."

"And your point is?"

"My point is that you don't need to concern yourself with the prophecy. But the fact remains that you are the Dark Lord's equal even if he's the one in another world. Do you believe in fate?"

"Er, I've never been really sure about that. I mean, I like to think there's no such thing since it makes life feel so...controlled. But then again, all these prophecies and things, they wouldn't work if fate didn't exist, right? Divination would be useless. I like to think it's more like we have a choice to do what we want but in the end, our choices are all part of a greater plan. Like destiny is more of a completely accurate prediction of your choices," Harry finished saying.

"Exactly. It was fate that brought you into this world, Harry Potter, perhaps because it is you who is meant to rid this world of the menace it is currently faced with. And whether you choose to accept this is up to you. But whatever you choose has already been foreseen. Whatever I do to convince you otherwise will have no effect since that too is part of the so-called greater plan. It is not an accident that you ended up here, if you ask me. You were always 'meant' to come here."

"So what you're saying is that I was pulled here because I'm the only one who can defeat Voldemort?"

"I'm just saying it's possible."

Harry sat with his tongue between his teeth, fiddling with his fingers. His life would never be normal. But then again, was it really that bad? Did he really want to be normal? While he initially thought he did, he always found that he was unable to sit still when there was so much to be done. He couldn't just sit back.

"So even if I accept this explanation of yours - an explanation we can't really prove - how exactly do you think I'll end up beating Voldemort? With the control he has over the Ministry, over the whole country, what chance do I stand? Even if I'm strong enough to face him, he has tons of followers. You can't expect me to face them all."

Fabius' lips turned into a grin. "When I told you that only a few people had stepped foot on this land, what did you think they are here for in the first place?"

"Probably kidnapped by phoenixes they helped rescue?"

"No - at least not all of them. Do you know the last person who was here before you?"

"You know I don't. Get to the point," Harry said impatiently.

"Hasani, son of Masud, he called himself. Egyptian wizard from the 1800s. Came across a phoenix in Egypt, too - that's the place where you're most likely to find them. Those were dark times for them, Harry Potter. It was when a group of wizards and witches, very powerful ones, decided that necromancy was a good idea. Too bad they didn't realise that the Ancient Egyptian wizards weren't going to be keen on being under their control. Inferi are one thing. But necromancy is among the darkest of the magical arts and one that can't be termed as misunderstood. It doesn't matter what your intentions are for bringing someone back. Interfering with the dead can never be justified.

"But anyway, it seems it was just yesterday Hasani was brought here by his phoenix. He practically begged me to help him find a way to vanquish those revived mummies before they ended up destroying all that he held dear."

"Why did this Hasani guy's phoenix bring him here?" Harry piped up.

"Don't interfere," snapped the older person. "It's just something those birds do. Think of it as showing a friend your home."

"So did Dumbledore come here, too?"

"I told you not to cut in! But to answer your query, no, I've never met him. His phoenix must have beenborn somewhere else because I remember every phoenix which was born here. Each and every one of them. Anyway, where was I?"

"Hasani and his phoenix... mummies... help..." Harry mumbled, trying to jog Fabius' memory. _For someone who claims to remember every bird born here, this guy sure is forgetful, _he thought.

"Ah, yes. In such, uhm, troubled times, whenever one of my 'friends' finds a wizard it deems worthy, it falls onto me to be a guide. I don't really have anything better to do here, I tell you. And thus, I complied with his request. Took a month to get him up the mark, of course, during which Egypt practically became a wizarding war zone. When he returned, though, let's just say he's practically a messiah to the Egyptian wizards now."

"Then why haven't I heard of him?" Harry asked tersely.

"I wouldn't know. Maybe this didn't happen in your world or perhaps you never paid attention to history lessons."

"So if I'm right, you're offering me tutelage because you think that these are 'troubled times' and I'm the one whose supposed to salvage everything, right?"

There was no reply.

Harry continued, "So if I take up your offer, you're saying that I'll be able to face up to Voldemort in a month?"

"In a month?!" Fabius exclaimed incredulously. "Heavens, no. Judging by how you got yourself captured by Voldemort, I'd say it'll take more than a month to fix you up, boy. Besides, you're not dealing with the undead here. You can't just go and perform a sealing to trap Voldemort's soul, nor can you barge into his office, challenging him to a duel. There are so many factors to consider. Besides, Hasani was already what some would call a prodigy. It wasn't really surprising his phoenix chose to team up with him. A few months, at least, for you."

"So now you're calling me weak?" Harry asked, annoyed.

"You said it. I didn't," came the reply.

"Alright, alright," Harry grumbled. "So, do you think Dumbledore was every taught by someone. As in, someone like you. I mean, I know he was a prodigy and everything, so he'd already be very strong, but still..."

"Could be," Fabius shrugged. "Only he can tell you the answer to that."

Harry stayed silent after that, immersed in deep thought, thinking about what to do. The old man was right. There was no way that he could return to Hogwarts after the holidays. Voldemort knew something was up, something that he did not like, and he would be eager to put a stop to it. What he was going to do, though, Harry did not know. He had nowhere to go. Many times had he contemplated what he was going to do once school was over, since he had nowhere to go and no fame to help him get through. And now here he was, faced with the rest of his life sooner than he had expected.

Kreis, finally leaving his perch atop Harry's head, fluttered over to Fabius and came to rest on the man's shoulder. Both the bird and the man observed Harry with piercing eyes. Harry returned the phoenix's gaze, looking into his eyes with no idea what he was doing. Was he really expecting the bird to start talking and give him sage advice?

"If you're thinking that Kreis is going to start communicating with you, it's not going to happen, boy," the man voiced as if he had read Harry's mind. "Besides, even if he could talk to you, he won't be giving you good advice. I can tell you that. He's still young. Hasn't had a single burning day yet. He chose someone pretty quick. An impulsive wizard for an impulsive phoenix, I guess." Fabius ran a long-fingered hand through the bird's bright plumage. "So, have you considered my offer? Take as long as you want. I have all the time in the world."

Harry wasn't planning on accepting so soon anyway. Right now, all he cared about was getting a little more shuteye.

* * *

Gellert Grindelwald, clothed in robes of the darkest grey he could find without spilling over into black, was currently seated in the roomy living room of Granger Hall, sipping on the glass of Blishen's Firewhisky which a house-elf had placed in front of him as he watched Tom Riddle take his anger out on three petrified witches. Just another day of work. Nothing new there except for the fact that these witches hadn't faced his anger in a while. Heck, one of them had never seen the Dark Lord so angry.

Eleanor Granger gasped on the carpet, gulping in as much air as she could once Tom lifted the Cruciatus Curse off of her. Beside her, Bellatrix Black looked up at her 'master' with eyes that displayed a mixture of fear and reverence as he berated them. Grindelwald never understood what the problem was with the witch. She would flirt with just about anyone, trying to toy with them, but when it came to Tom, or Voldemort as he preferred to call himself, she was putty in his hands. The last and youngest of the three, Hermione Granger, was spared the worst, though she hadn't escaped unscathed. She was currently nursing a hurting arm.

"Eleanor, Eleanor, Eleanor," Tom repeated the woman's name thrice, causing her to widen her eyes, perhaps expecting another flood of pain to course through her body. "I believe it was you who joyfully announced to me that our guest, Harry, had confessed and was still in your basement."

"M-my lord," the witch groveled for the umpteenth time that day. "I d-don't deny it. He did confess. I- I told you everything. Hermione - she had him under the C-Cruicatus."

"Then why did we find your basement empty?!" Tom screeched, causing all three witches to cringe. "We have been over this many times: where is the boy?!"

Grindelwald rolled his eyes. The three women were facing the man's wrath all because of him. Should he feel bad? No, he didn't feel like it. He took another sip, letting the drink burn his throat on its way down. But Tom did have a point. Where in the world was that boy? He had been so determined to rescue that damn phoenix and the bird repaid him by jumping at him and kidnapping him. The questions just kept piling up. Dumbledore had a lot to answer for.

"My lord," the younger Granger suddenly mumbled. "F-forgive me for interrupting, b-but the boy's story. Will you have it confirmed?"

"Hermione," the Dark Lord's voice took on a softer tone. "I have been lenient with you because you are still young. There is much you have to learn. The boy was lying - that much should have been obvious to you. He did not crack under Veritaserum. It would be foolish to think he would spill his secrets so easily when tortured. I expected it to take a few days, at least, for him to give us something that remotely resembled the truth."

"Forgive me," the young woman repeated. "I will not fail you the next time."

_If there's a next time,_ thought Grindelwald.

"It is best for you if you don't," said Tom. "But the question is, how did he escape? He had no wand! Gellert!" Grindelwald looked up, the glass in his hand halfway up to his lips. "I value your opinion. What do you say?"

_Ah, drat._ "Well, I can't really say anything since I didn't know the boy, but it is safe to suggest that judging by how mentally strong this Harry is, he might also have been trained in the use of wandless magic."

"Yes," Tom nodded. "That's the only plausible explanation I've been able to come up with. Not even Dumbledore would have been able to rescue him without setting off the wards here. He had to have done it himself."

_But I'm not Dumbledore,_ Grindelwald thought, smiling inwardly. Speaking of Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts was going to be in deep waters. Tom was convinced that he was planning something against him. A Voldemort who thought he was in danger was a dangerous Voldemort. It made it difficult for Gellert to deal with him.

"Let's go, Gellert," Voldemort announced. "We have an old friend to see."

_And here we go._ One sweeping glance at the three witches told Grindelwald that they were relieved at this declaration. It meant that punishment time was over. For now, at least.

Without another word, the two men swept out of the house and made their way past the vast lawns and out into the open, beyond the limits of the house's wards. On Voldemort's signal, Grindelwald drew a small coin from the depths of the inner pocket of his robes. Both wizards touched it and the older one whispered, "Activate." With the familiar tug behind his navel, Grindelwald found himself and Tom hurtling through a blur of gray.

If Grindelwald had to describe the landing, he would say it was rather graceful and if he had watched someone appear firmly the way they had, he would have run away. The air was frigid and the grounds were blanketed in snow. Amidst the white, he was sure that they stood out like ink on paper. They had arrived at the gates of Hogwarts, within the range of the anti-Apparition wards.

Tom grabbed the large iron ring hanging by the gate and knocked with it. Appearing directly inside the castle would have been more convenient but it wouldn't have left a good impression on the staff, would it? Within a minute, a heavy man came lumbering towards them. _The groundskeeper. _Suddenly, the man's already pale face lost even more colour when he realised who was at the gate. His pace quickened as he hastened to let the massive iron gates to swing open.

"Minister Slytherin!" he greeted quickly. "This... this is most unexpected. A pleasure to meet you. And you, too." He motioned towards Grindelwald.

"Yes," said Tom. "I'm afraid that circumstances did not permit me to delay this visit. The headmaster is, of course, in the castle?"

The groundskeeper's eyes narrowed just a little bit. "Yes, yes, of course. Please, don't let me keep you in the snow any longer."

* * *

"Ah, Tom! Gellert! I was expecting you," Dumbledore, standing up, greeted them in his usual mixture of enthusiasm and caution as the two wizards stepped into the office. "I saw Stanton let you in. What a pleasure it is to see you again."

Closing the door behind him, Grindelwald stood back as he saw Tom step forward, his eyes narrowed. Behind Tom, his so-called aide nodded cautiously to his former best friend. Dumbledore, of course, gave no sign that he had seen the gesture, merely choosing to look directly at the younger of the two guests.

"Spare me the pleasantries, Albus," Tom spoke. "We all know that they hold no meaning between us."

"True," the headmaster admitted. "But a little courtesy can go a long way."

"But it seems that my courtesy towards you didn't do anything."

"I'm afraid I shall need you to elucidate a little, Tom."

"You, _Professor,"_ Tom said, letting out the word 'professor' acridly. "Are the only remaining head of a magical school who wasn't chosen by the Ministry. I could very easily have disposed of you had I wanted. But it seems that you did not think much of this kindness on my part and have continued to defy the Ministry."

"Tom, Tom, Tom. If you believe that disposing of me would be easy, you are sadly mistaken. You may have been able to remove me from my position, but it will not be as easy to get rid of me. And it is well known that you only kept me here because you believed it would, what is the expression, keep my nose out of your business." Dumbledore paused before continuing, "Also, you might want to explain to me what it is that I have done. Omniscience is not among my considerable talents."

If he had been a lesser man, Grindelwald would have snickered. _Among is considerable talents. His modesty never fails, does it?_

"Harry Peverell," the Minister stated curtly.

If Dumbledore was shocked, he did not let himself betray any sign of it.

"You remember him, don't you? After all, he was supposed to be your nephew. Supposed, of course. That was clever on your part, Albus, getting the boy to come from a place of which we had no records. But did you really think that I hadn't considered the possibility of something like this? That I had no way of getting information from our enemy? In fact, I had a very...interesting meeting with Harry."

Dumbledore shrugged casually. He knew that there was no way that he could deny what he had done. "Of course, not. Contrary to you, I don't underestimate others, Tom. I merely wanted to see how long it would take you to find out. I must say that things went faster than I expected. I guess I'll have to blame that on the way Harry excels at getting himself noticed. Now if you will, I would like my student back. You have him, I presume."

Grindelwald cut in before Voldemort had the chance to say anything, "The boy escaped." By just saying three words and giving the headmaster a surreptitious look, he had revealed to Dumbledore that he had a part to play in the boy's escape and that the boy was (hopefully) safe.

"Good boy," Dumbledore remarked, much to Voldemort's chagrin that a student had gotten away from him.

"But we digress," Tom finally said with a tone of authority. "The point is, Dumbledore. Your track record prior to the formation of the new Ministry is not very encouraging and you've let your last chance slip out of your grasp. And so there is only one thing to do." The wizard conjured a scroll into his right hand. "By the order of the Ministry of Magic, you are hereby judged unworthy to be headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The only question that remains is this: Will you go quietly or do we have to get our hands dirty?"

Grindelwald had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. _Here it goes. _His hand tightened around his wand. Tom, too, had his hand in his pocket. Even the headmaster had one hand behind his back, no doubt concealing a wand. Grindelwald looked around for any sign of an exit. There was none except for the sole door. Even Albus' phoenix wasn't there.

"As you wish, Dumbledore," snarled Tom before thrusting his wand in front of him.

A jet of gray light shot out from its end and made for the aged headmaster, who merely flicked his own wand - _the other Elder Wand_, Grindelwald noted - and conjured a shield of blue light which absorbed the gray before launching it back at the attacker. Tom, though, was ready and jumped aside, letting the light pass beside him and smash into the door of the office, shattering it into fragments of wood. The wizards were holding back due to the nature of their environment. Launching blistering fire blasts and freezing beams of ice wasn't the best idea in a small office.

Deciding to play his part, Grindelwald swung his wand and shot a lightning bolt at the headmaster, who deflected it with his wand, sending it crashing into a shelf. Numerous books came tumbling down as a result of the crash.

Then all three men cast their spells at once. Three continuous beams of light erupted from the ends of their wands and met in the middle of the room, each beam trying to outdo the other two. Grindelwald found himself facing both Dumbledore and Tom. He grinned, relishing the feeling as the three circled around the room, their spells still connected. Magic circled around the room like a wind, causing books to fly around the office and smash into the various instruments.

As soon as Dumbledore was in front of the open doorway, he simply tumbled back. With the headmaster having left the connection, the other two spells also died down and the objects that had been floating fell to the floor with a resounding clatter.

Tom rushed down the staircase, closely followed by Grindelwald. They found Dumbledore standing in the corridor, smiling at them pleasantly.

"I prefer to have my battles in a bit more open place," the headmaster told them nonchalantly.

"Glad to know that we have something in common," Tom replied before conjuring a ball of ice with conical protrusions all around it.

At the same time, Dumbledore created a fiery dragon which gave a lifelike roar before rushing towards the incoming ice. It 'swallowed' the ice, letting it melt. Grindelwald contributed with a jet of water that enveloped both the fire and ice. The whistle of steam echoed in the hallway as vapour billowed from the middle of the corridor.

Grindelwald bit his lip. He wasn't what he used to be. _Damn Nurmengard. _

The next few minutes were a flurry of spells as jets of light of all colours shot in every direction, very rarely colliding with their target. By the end of it, the corridor was drenched and their were soot marks on the walls and ceiling. A few of the torches lining the hallway had fallen.

And then the sound of footsteps echoed from behind Dumbledore. The headmaster conjured a mirror to see behind him, not daring to turn his head the other way.

Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress and Transfiguration teacher, was rushing towards the wizards, screaming, "Professor Dumbledore! I came as soon as I received Stanton's message that the Min- oh..."

The woman's voice trailed off when she caught sight of the scene before her: three armed wizards standing in a corridor that bore all the signs of a recent duel.

"Albus!" McGonagall shouted, reaching for her own wand. "W-what is the meaning of this?!"

"No, Minerva!" the headmaster told her in an unwaveringly calm tone. "There is no need for you to be involved in this. As for you, Tom - as much as I would love to continue our little game, I am afraid my ride has decided that he feels well enough and has arrived. Good day!"

Before anyone had the time to react, there was a flash of fire and the roar of flames echoed in the hallway as a magnificent bird materialised over Dumbledore's head. In the blink of an eye, Dumbledore grabbed hold of the phoenix's talons and disappeared in a burst of flames, leaving behind two wizards and a bewildered and horrified witch.

Grindelwald had a feeling of déjà vu.

* * *

"I'm up! I'm up!" Harry mumbled the next day, half-asleep as something hit him on the face.

Rubbing his eyes, he looked up and found Kreis the phoenix perched at the foot of his bed. On Harry's stomach lay a newspaper. _What in the world? _

"What'd you drop it on me for?" Harry asked to no effect as the bird merely continued to stare at him.

Shaking his head and putting on his spectacles, the wizard reached for the paper. It was a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ - the name was given in clear, bold lettering on the top. It wasn't the name of the paper that grabbed Harry's attention, though. It was the headline news. He let out a swear of disbelief even though he had been warned by Fabius of something like this.

_Speak of the devil..._

His 'host' sauntered inside and looked at the paper in Harry's hands before remarking, "Ah, the newspaper. Kreis, you're supposed to give the thing to me!" The bird trilled in reply. "Alright, boy, what's got your jaw falling down?"

Harry merely flipped over the newspaper to allow Fabius to see it. The man narrowed is eyes as he glimpsed the headline before saying, "I told you something like this was going to happen. Well, it happened."

_'Albus Dumbledore No Longer Headmaster of Hogwarts_

_The Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Education revealed yesterday evening that the famous Albus Dumbledore is no longer headmaster of the most esteemed institute of learning for young wizards and witches in Europe, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Reasons behind his removal are not clear as the only thing that a Ministry spokesperson had to say was that Mr. Dumbledore was no longer considered a fit candidate for the post. _

_The news has generally been greeted with favourable opinions. One parent, wishing to remain anonymous, had this to say: "I think it's a step in the right direction. If you look at other magical schools, you'll see that Hogwarts' curriculum was rather outdated. If the changes are successful, I might consider bringing my daughter back from Beauxbatons to Hogwarts." '_

Harry stopped reading after that, not bothering to see what else was written. The parent's comments didn't surprise him one bit. Dumbledore did have a reputation for being rather unwilling to allow the study of Dark Arts and all that. But what concerned the young man more was the fact that Dumbledore had been removed from the school due to him. Sure, the paper said that the 'reasons behind his removal are not clear', but he would have to be blind not to see that this involved Voldemort.

With Dumbledore gone from Hogwarts, Harry's only haven in this world had been ripped away from him. There was no way he was going back there. He wondered if there would be any students who would share his opinion and decide it was better not to return to school. Where would Dumbledore go? A man like him would have many places, but just which one would he choose? Despite the fact that he did not want to get too close with the newly former headmaster, he wouldn't mind knowing what the old man would do.

"So," Fabius broke his thoughts as he sat down by the foot of Harry's bed. "You know what this means, right? You have no place to go, unless you'd rather just go out into the streets and live as a vagabond."

"I'm not gonna do that and you know it. Besides, what if Voldemort's on the hunt for me now?"

"Oh, please. I'm sure he has better tact than to place posters in the streets to ask the public to be on the lookout for a student on the run. Even if he's after you, you can bet he won't make it public. He doesn't have a thing on you, Harry."

"I guess," Harry admitted.

"Anyway, how about that offer of mine? I wouldn't mind having human company after almost two hundred years, you know."

"That's all well and good, but don't you think that once I'm done here, I'll have to go out in the open again? Why don't I just leave now and get a head-start on my new life as a homeless guy? I'll grow a beard and sleep in my mokeskin pouch even though I think I have a good amount of money in Gringotts.."

"Well then, you'll be a weak vagrant. At least, you'll be weaker than what you could be. Besides, this way, you get the comfort of this place even if only for a while. And you'll save money. That'll shorten you're suffering, won't it?"

"How very droll," Harry said, channeling the spirit of his world's Hermione before changing the topic. "You know what? Why did Kreis bring the paper anyway? Isn't the a job for lesser beings? Like owls?"

"Usually, yes. But he doesn't have the pride that comes with age. So I use him to get myself updated on the outside world. And stop trying to change the topic. Tell me now, are you staying or not?"

"I don't have a wand! Why don't I go to Ollivander's first?"

"There's no need for now. I'm sure we'll find one or two here. I remember a few idiots dying."

"Dying?" Harry questioned incredulously. "So now this training is going to be lethal?"

"Oh, shut up. You won't be doing what they did! Now stop testing my patience and answer me."

* * *

_That's all for now.  
_


End file.
